


Lava You Lots

by Fox_Salz, lynsaneinthemembrane



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Alien Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Child Neglect, Dimension L-024, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Gravity Falls Spoilers, Hand Jobs, Implied Fiddauthor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Latino Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Stalking, Vaginal Fingering, Withdrawal, body horror???, hella angst, mention of the author, rick is extra, stanchez, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:26:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 93,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/pseuds/Fox_Salz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynsaneinthemembrane/pseuds/lynsaneinthemembrane
Summary: Stan and Rick's relationship through the years, as marked by a magic lava lamp powered by love.





	1. Harvey's Hubris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarscarchurro.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=scarscarchurro.tumblr.com).



> Lyns: This was an idea inspired by [scarscarchurro's](https://scarscarchurro.tumblr.com/) beautiful green lava lamp. He came up with the whole idea of the lava lamp honestly; me, Fox and the others of our stanchez slack chat built up on it. What was supposed to start as quick RP to get some dialogue down quickly escalated into a full chapter, hope you guys enjoy the beginning of this fic!

Stan's foot was heavy on the gas pedal as he urged the Stanmobile down the oversized road, slowly inching along closer to their destination: a toilet. He was nearly doubled over, clutching his stomach with one hand and grasping the steering wheel with the other. He tried to focus on driving, the road ahead of him—anything else but the hot, burning sensation bubbling in his guts.

"Fuck," he moaned. "That's the last time I let you convince me to eat from some shady alien gas station."

"Not my fault you have a weak stomach, Lee. Y-you know, it might be better if I drive."

"I. Can. Drive," Stan forced through clenched teeth. " 'Sides, it would take too long to switch."

Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, and he pushed down on the gas even harder. The car flew down the road at just over 120 mph as they passed a looming sign that they had seen earlier from a distance: REST STOP, NEXT EXIT.

"Oh hey, we should probably stop there."

Rick flashed a grin that Stan steadfastly ignored. Stan could only imagine how long it would take them to first reach the exit, much less get off the ramp and to the rest stop. He pushed the thought of how much time was passing out of his head, and tried coaxing his car to go even faster, although he knew she was near her limits.

"Hey, I got a better idea, why don’t you just portal us to a restroom? Oh wait, I forgot, your stupid gun doesn't work," Stan hissed spitefully, throwing Rick an angry glare. "If I shit my pants it’s on you, Sanchez."

"D-don't put this all on me, motherfucker. Y-you're the one who chose the thing that looked like a hot dog. Even on an alien planet, you never eat the hot dogs! Common Sense 101, Lee." He paused, leaning back in the seat and crossing his arms. "Also fuck off, the portal gun just needs a tune up."

"Can we please _not_ talk about that nasty food," he muttered, grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Fuck, why is this road so _long?!"_

He felt the gas building up inside his gut, and prayed it came up as a burp and not down the other way.

"We're on a road for giant vehicles, Lee, _of course_ they're going to be long."

"Not. Helping." Stan briefly considered pulling over and just letting it rip right there on the side of the road. The only thing stopping him was the prospect of attracting some flies that were too huge to swat away. "We can't be much farther."

The road veered to the right, exiting the huge highway. Going down the steady hill at such high speeds reminded Stan of the roller coaster he and his brother used to ride when they were kids. _Expect this isn't fun_ , he thought as he soared down the exit, the bubbling in his stomach worsened by the sensation.

Rick let out a carefree laugh, and Stan's eye twitched. At least someone was enjoying this.

The rest stop could be seen as a grey blob on the horizon, seeming almost impossibly distant. Stan had almost given up all hope when it started to come into sharper relief. He let out a triumphant cheer, somehow coaxing the Stanley Mobile into going even faster; he'd worry about the engine later. As soon as he could make out the details of the lone building, he began to ease up on the gas, instead favoring the breaks.               

"Oh look, we're here. I guess we can stop if you really—"

Stan was already parked and out the door.            

Rick snickered to himself and followed at a leisurely pace.

Stan practically ran to the rest stop. He didn't even bother to try to open the restroom door he knew would be too heavy, but slid under the sizable crack between the floor and the door. Like most rest stop bathrooms Stan had experienced, this one was filthy, and the stench was enough to make him want to turn back immediately. _I've come too far,_ he thought. _At least it's empty._ Holding his breath, he sprinted across the dirt-caked floor (at least he hoped it was dirt) and under one of the enormous stalls. Like everything else on the damn planet, the toilet was meant for a being much, _much_ larger than him, but that wasn't going to stop him now. He desperately glanced around the metal toilet for a place to start climbing, when he heard a noise of disgust behind him.

"You'd think someone would clean up in here," Rick commented, glancing around at the filth. "I guess that's just a constant in all dimensions—shady rest stop bathrooms. Y-you better not get a disease from this place."

"If you're not gonna help me, get outta here," Stan snarled, practically dancing on the spot. The metal toilet was simple and smooth, with not much to get a good foothold on. Sure, he could just shit on the floor, no one would be able to tell the difference, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, not with a perfectly useful toilet _right there._ He turned to Rick, any anger or annoyance replaced by pure desperation. "Please help me get up there."

Rick rolled his eyes but came over. He eyed the area around the toilet carefully, and each second that passed had Stan straining. Was this purposeful torture? Was Rick getting some sick revenge on him for something?

Finally, though, Rick turned back to him and said, "Alright, here's what we're going to do. Drop your pants and shit on the floor."

"Goddamn it, Rick, I'm not doing that!"

"Fuck, fine."

Stan was just beginning to think that all hope was lost, when he noticed a piece of toilet paper dangling from the dispenser near the toilet. He ran over to it and jumped up, his fingertips just grazing the edge of the paper. A large belch bubbled up from his stomach as he landed. He let out a loud groan.

"Give me a boost, will ya?" he called out to Rick.

"Do I need to remind you that you're the muscles of this operation, Lee? I-I'm barely a hundred and twenty pounds and none of that is muscle."

"Yeah, you're a fucking stick but you can still get me an inch or two up." Rick flipped him off but nonetheless came over. "Get on your hands and knees."

"Even I have standards. I'm not sucking your dick in this nasty place."

"Just let me stand on your back for a second so I can reach this toilet paper. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Rick made a sour face at the dirty floor but got down, making a mental note of just how badly Stan owed him. He cringed as the other man stepped down, but thankfully it was only for a second before the weight was gone. Rick shot up and glanced at his climbing partner.

Stanley ignored the intense feelings of discomfort in his gut, and climbed as if his life depended on it. He was half afraid that his weight would pull down the roll, but like most other rest stops the dispenser was garbage, keeping the roll stuck in place. Once he reached high enough he began to throw his weight around, swinging himself closer and closer to the edge of the toilet seat. Rick watched from below, impressed by Stan's resilience. He swung for another moment, before jumping for the toilet, snagging a piece of the toilet paper as he leaped. Miraculously, he managed to get a good grip on the seat, pulling himself up and over. He let out a triumphant holler, before dropping his pants and crouching over the bowl of the toilet. Stan was on the verge of tears as he finally experienced sweet relief. He had never had such a good shit in his life.

"Y-you almost done, Lee? I'd like to get the hell out of this place and somewhere where I can work on the portal gun. And t-take a shower. You owe me a shower and sex!"

"Yeah, yeah, let me shit in peace, will ya? We'll be out of here soon enough."

After a few moments of making sure he had nothing left in his bowels, Stan wiped and stood up on the edge of the seat, fastening the button to his pants. He briefly considered trying to flush but immediately dismissed the thought; it wouldn't make any difference. He decided his best bet was to go down the way he came up, and backed up a little to get a small running start to jumping back onto the roll of toilet paper. He took a single step, before sliding on the slippery metal and falling back out of sight into the toilet bowl with a surprised yelp.

"Oh you stupid motherfucker."

Rick waited a moment and when there was no response, not even the sound of splashing, he cursed again. He jumped up and grabbed hold of the toilet paper then quickly scaled it. With another hollered curse he jumped onto the seat.

The metal was too slippery to keep a good hold on, however, and he found himself falling forward into the bowl just like Stan had.

\----------

As Stan fell, he braced himself for impact with putrid water that never came, instead falling flatly onto a smooth surface. As he fell he heard a small bell ring nearby, accompanied by roaring laughter. He scrambled to his feet, dazed by the sudden change in location. He was in the middle of what seemed to be a dimly lit antique shop, the chuckles emitting from an old man standing behind the cash register. He looked up towards the direction he had fallen, seeing a faded painting of the toilet he had fallen into that seemed to shimmer and move as if in a small breeze. He glanced back to the old man, whose laughter had started to subside.

"Where the hell am I?! Who are you?!?" he demanded.

"Calm yourself, young man, there's no reason to panic. Though I can understand why you might. Most often do," The strange man said. "Now—"

A scream cut him off, and something slammed down on Stan, knocking him to the ground. He groaned and twisted around to see Rick on top of him.

"Th-this, this is all your fault, Lee."                        

"I can't really argue this one."

The strange man cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He continued talking as the pair got to their feet.

"Ah, two travelers I see. Usually it's only one at a time. Much easier to find my store when you're by yourself."                                                                      

"Right, and who the fuck are you?"

"Manners," the man responded, giving Rick and stern look. "Mind your elders, son—"

"My _name_ is Rick."

"And if you would stop interrupting me, you would learn my name is Harvey. And this is my shop." He spread his arms proudly, a wide grin spreading across his face. The grin fell when Rick and Stan were less than impressed. "Go ahead, take a look around. I'm sure you'll find something to your liking."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," Rick replied snarkily. "Come on, Lee."

"Wait, but _where_ are we? What about my car?"

"You boys slipped through a liminal space—the only way to find my shop. You can easily return to wherever you came from at any time. Simply ask and I'll point you in the right direction. Please, take your time."

"Cool, got it. Except what's a liminal space?"

"It, it's just a place where there's a sort of tear in the fabric between worlds," Rick explained, examining a terrifying cloth doll that looked to be from the early 1800s. "Sometimes places that don't exist in one reality will show up there, and y-you can never find them again. Or sometimes you'll slip into another world yourself. I wanted to harness the power of liminal spaces for the portal gun but that didn't quite work out. T-too unstable."

"So you're telling me that filthy rest stop was a tear between time and space?"

Stan glanced at his reflection in an old, tarnished mirror. As he peered in, the edges of the mirror began to glow faintly, and his image started to distort. Spooked, he hurried away and moved his attention to a an innocuous-looking toy boat. It was solid wood, with real cloth sails. It reminded him of the Stan-o-War he and Ford had worked so hard to bring back to life. It had only been a few years since he’d last seen it. He briefly wondered what could have happened to it, before pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind. Stan turned his attention back to the strangeness of the entire situation.

"I'd say I don't buy it, but here I am. You sure you can get us back?"

Rick waved his arm dismissively, busy running the fingers of his other hand over the smooth surface of an old desk. A drawer opened itself; inside was a long black quill. When he picked it up something pricked him and, startled, he dropped it. The stem began to fill with blood. Rick swept it back into the drawer and quickly shut it. Stan shot a glance back to Harvey, who was eyeing them with great interest.

Harvey chuckled and nodded, but said nothing else. Shrugging, Stan continued to scan the aisle for something of interest. His eyes slid over rows and rows filled with numerous objects, each more curious and slightly more alarming than the last. The entire shop vaguely reminded him of the pawn shop his father had owned (most antique shops did), and it made him uneasy. He half expected his father to come barging from a back room, spitting insults and reminding Stanley how worthless he was. A shiver ran down his back and he decided he didn't want to stay there much longer. Hell, they didn't have the extra money to spare to buy anything from here even if they wanted to.

As he went over to urge Rick to leave, something caught his eye. It was on a covered end table set up in a corner. Stan was drawn to the object, and his feet moved of their own accord towards the beautiful sight.

"Rick," he breathed. "I want this."

He felt his partner come up beside him.

"A lava lamp?"

"It's amazing."

"Lee, we live in a car. Lava lamps have to be plugged in to work."

Stan turned to him with wide, begging eyes.

"Come on, can't you whip some science-y thing up with your big brain to power it?"

Rick sighed, knowing he couldn't say no.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be t-too hard."

Suddenly the lamp started to glow.

"Whoa," they gasped in unison, bathed in a green light being cast by the lamp. The "lava" inside wasn't moving yet, but the light alone was enough to solidify Stan's intense need for this lamp.

"Ahhhh, I see you've stumbled upon one of my newest items," Harvey said from behind them, startling the pair. "This is one of my best yet. I was inspired to make this one evening while I--"

"How much?" Rick took another opportunity to cut him off.

"Hmmph. I can give this one away for 2,000 Earth dollars."                                    

"HA! Good joke, old man."

"Y-yeah, what do you take us for, a b-bunch of idiots? What's th-the real price?"

Harvey clicked his tongue and repeated, "2,000 Earth dollars. Any dimension's, it's all the same in the end."

"Why the fuck would we pay that much for some junky lava lamp we could get anywhere?"

"Ah, but this is no ordinary lava lamp, my boys. And it's so expensive because it is one of a kind. I toiled for a very long time to perfect this piece."

"What makes it special?" Stan wondered, glancing back at the gorgeous light.

"Why, it's not fueled by electricity, but by love."                            

That earned Harvey a derisive snort.

"Wh-what a load of shit," Rick scoffed. "We both know th-that I'm not about to fork over 2,000 dollars for a fuckin' lava lamp. Stan, let's get out of here."

"What else do you want for it?" Stan asked, ignoring Rick. "We may not have that much cash but I'm sure we can work somethin' out."

Harvey gave him an appraising look over and smiled.

"This lamp has truly captured your interest, hasn't it, Stanley? That's a good sign, a very good sign."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. He ignored the fact that he couldn’t remember telling Harvey his name. "I just really like the colors, ok? So, what else can we do?"

"Hmm well I'm sure we can strike some sort of deal," Harvey mused, sizing the two up. "Rick, is it? I heard you mention some sort of 'portal gun?' Can I see this machine?"

"Next," Rick grunted. "I-I'm not showing you shit."

"Rick come on! Harvey just wants to see it for a second, right?" Harvey nodded. "Then you get it right back and we get a lava lamp!"

Rick quirked his eyebrow.                                        

"You r-really want this stupid thing, huh?"

"It looks cool," Stan mumbled, glancing away.

Rick rolled his eyes and reached into his bag, pulling out the portal gun. With a distrustful look he handed it over to the shopkeeper.

"Don't try to pull anything funny, old man."                                

Harvey's smile grew. He held up a hand, pushing the portal gun back towards Rick. "I've seen what I needed to. The lava lamp is yours, if you take good care of it."

"Th-that's it?" Rick eyed  him suspiciously. "No catch?"

"No catch," Harvey confirmed, laying a hand across his chest. "On my honor. Do keep in mind this is no ordinary lava lamp; you couldn't get anything like it at your average shop. As I've mentioned before, it runs on love. As long as the two of you care deeply for one another, it should work without question, and that's a guarantee. The lamp itself is very sturdy, near unbreakable. You'll also find that once at full power, the glow emitted by the lamp has an incredibly calming effect on the mind. And that's putting it lightly. Oh, and it also makes your skin softer." He threw them a wink.

Rick glanced at Stan. Usually his partner was a lot more distrustful, but right now Stan looked ready to hug Harvey. Either he was so enamored with the lamp he wasn't thinking straight, or else he didn't see Harvey as any sort of con man. Whichever, the lamp was theirs now.                                        

"Alright, let's go then. Unless you want something else to clutter up the car."    

Stan threw his arms around Rick and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Behind them the lamp glowed just a bit brighter.


	2. Motel Rooms and Back Massages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Stan enjoy their shiny new lava lamp from the comfort of a motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some fluff.

Stan had been carrying the lava lamp close to his chest since they'd gotten it from that weird ass old man. Even while driving, he'd nestled it safely in his lap, wrapped up in his jacket for extra protection. As much as he tried, Rick couldn’t be annoyed by Stan’s actions. It was mostly hilarious and just a bit adorable.

"You're cradling that thing like a baby," Rick teased, unlocking their motel room door.

"Jealous?"

The biting retort on the tip of Rick's tongue turned into a surprised squeak as he was suddenly lifted. He glared at the other man who just grinned.

"Y-you think you're so fucking cute."

"Know I am," Stan replied, kicking in the door.

He repositioned Rick and the lamp so he wouldn't drop either, juggling them around like both were weightless. Rick ended up with the lamp in his hands while Stan carried him bridal style.

"I both hate and love your muscles, big guy."

"Tell me something I don't know for once," Stan replied, plopping Rick down on the bed. He quickly snatched the lamp from Rick's hands and rushed over to the battered desk in the corner. "Where's the power button on this thing?"

He carefully examined the lamp, turning it about.

"Come help me turn this on."

He motioned for Rick to come over, perplexed by the lack of a power switch.

"Have you tried the 'on' button?" Rick called out, reclining back on the bed and stretching. "Ah, it f-feels good to be in a bed again."

Stan fiddled with it for a minute, brow furrowing. There didn't seem to be any sort of switch or plug whatsoever. Just as his frustration was about to peak Harvey's words came back to him.

"He said this was powered by love."

Stan glanced back at Rick expectantly. Rick quirked an eyebrow.                          

"That's just about the _worst_ pickup line you've ever used, Lee."

"Just come over here and help me, already."                                        

Rick made a big show of rolling his eyes and groaning like he was being asked to do some herculean task. Then when he crossed the room he simply laid his head in the crook of Stan's shoulder.

They both stared at the lamp expectantly: nothing. After a moment, Stan released an exasperated sigh.

"It lit up when we were in the shop. What did we do last time?"

"Well, if I remember correctly, you nagged me about this lamp until I caved and said yes. Got anything else you wanna nag about?"

"How 'bout I start with how your bony chin is digging into me."

"Uh-huh. Hey, let me counter that with the fact you're paying more attention to a stupid lamp that we obviously got swindled on, instead of me."

"I mean, technically we didn't have to pay anything for this," Stan pointed out. Suddenly he smirked as the rest of Rick's words clicked. "Wait, a minute—you’re totally jealous."

" _Or_ I'm just bored," Rick huffed, starting to move away.

He didn't make it far, however, as Stan grabbed him by the waist and pulled him flush against his side. Leaning over he whispered into Rick's ear.

"You are _so_ jealous."

In that moment Rick knew getting that stupid lamp was the worst decision of his life, and sincerely hoped it broke the next time they drove over a pothole.

"Pendejo," he said, pushing out of Stan's grasp.

"C'mon, just admit it!" Stan laughed. "I can't believe it. Rick Sanchez, jealous of a lava lamp. This is one for the books, ladies and gentlemen."

Rick ignored him and threw himself back on the bed, covering his head with a pillow.

"Aw, don't be that way." Stan's tone changed instantly. "You know I was jokin' around."

He left the lamp at the desk and took a seat on the bed.

Though the words were slightly muffled Stan could still make out the threat of him sleeping in the Stanleymobile. Stan was confident Rick couldn't physically push him out the door, but knew that wouldn't stop him from either hogging the whole bed or refusing to sleep on it with him. Well, if he was in the doghouse already….                                    

"I think you need ta turn that smile upside down, Rick."

Rick had time to fling the pillow at Stan but that didn't stop the hands descending on him. Betrayed by his overly sensitive body, Rick was soon laughing against his will as his partner tickled him. He cursed in every language he knew, the words punctured with fits of laughter. Rick tried to wiggle out of Stan's reach but it was really no hope. Oh, he _really_ hated that fucking lava lamp now.

"I'm. Going. To. _Kill._ You.," Rick managed to spit out between laughs.

"We both know all I gotta do is sit on you and you're out."

Stan was unrelenting, and Rick tried as hard as he could to wiggle out of his reach, chest heaving from how hard he was laughing. He cursed the day he let Stan find out how ticklish he was. The lamp stayed unlit on the desk. Rick flopped over, reaching up to grab Stan's wrists. They struggled for a second, before Stan pinned him against the bed, face hovering inches above his own.

"Remember," he teased, breath tickling Rick now, "I'm the muscles."

"Meaning I'm the brains."

Then Rick pressed their mouths together, and he could feel Stan melt into the kiss. It didn't take long for his hold to slacken. Rick slid his arms free and wrapped them around his partner.

"That wasn't fair," Stan said, the dreamy expression he wore proving he didn't mind.        

"Y-you didn't deserve that kiss, motherfucker."

"Can I have another one?"

Rick rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but comply. As the two kissed for a second time, the lamp began to emit a faint green glow, growing stronger as the kiss grew longer. Pulling away, Stan's eyes lit up with joy.

"See, I knew you loved me," he teased, before leaping off the bed.

The lamp was at full power now, bathing Stan in it's light. He stared at it dreamily, emitting a deep sigh of content.

"C'mon Rick, you gotta check this out."

Rick observed him from the bed with mixed feelings of annoyance and amusement.

"Nah, I think I'm good from over here." He spread himself across the bed. "This bed sure is comfortable. I'll really enjoy having it allllllllll to myself tonight."

Stan pouted.

"Come on, just look at for a second."

Rick knew what would happen but he glanced over at Stan anyway, ensuring his own downfall. He let out a long sigh as he dragged himself off the bed and over to his partner. One day he'd learn to resist those eyes.

"Wow, it's a lava lamp."

As unimpressed as he managed to sound, Rick had to admit that the light _did_ feel oddly soothing. His act didn't fool Stan for a second, but he decided to humor him.

"Ok. So it's a lava lamp. Don't you know how to properly enjoy one of these things?"

A sly grin crept across his face as he crossed the room to dig through their bags. "Is it your turn to roll or mine?"

Rick couldn't stop himself from grinning in return. "Yours."

"You always say that," Stan laughed, withdrawing a small glass jar full of pot and a pack of cigarette papers. "I guess it's cause of my superior rolling skills or somethin'."           

"Nope. I just deserve to have someone roll my joints for me."

Stan snorted.

"You just enjoy being pampered."                            

Rick didn't refute that as he brought the lava lamp to the end table. Then he set about to making himself comfortable on the bed, stealing both pillows and nestling in. After flicking off the motel room light Stan came over with the finished joint. The lava lamp did a fantastic job of illuminating the room, and the glow it cast on Rick was breathtaking. The other man was fixated on the lamp so Stan took the opportunity to openly look at Rick, drinking in the sight. He was always beautiful; when he was relaxed like this, though, there was just something _extra_ about him Stan couldn't put his finger on.                                

"Wh-why am I still not high, Lee?"

"Probably because you left me no room."

Rick rolled his eyes but scooted over for Stan who just pulled Rick into his lap anyway. He pressed the joint to Rick's lips first and lit the other end. After they both had hit it, Stan laid back against the pillows and Rick laid back against his chest. The lava lamp bathed them in a gorgeous green glow. Stan wasn't sure if it was the weed or the lamp, but he was feeling great, better than he had in months. It was rare he and Rick got to sleep in an actual bed, and he was savoring every moment.

He glanced over to the lamp, and while the light was bright and beautiful, the substance inside still had yet to start moving around. He let out a small groan of annoyance, taking another deep drag on the joint.

"What's your problem?" Rick muttered, taking the joint from Stan. "The lamp's on now, is-isn't that what you wanted?"

"But look! The lava part is just lying there."

"Well maybe you're not loving me enough, hint hint," Rick said before falling into a coughing fit. Stan rubbed his back.

"You're just trying to con me into finding a vending machine."                    

"Not a bad idea, but I'm also comfy and if you move that'll be ruined."

"If being your human body pillow isn't loving you hard enough, I don't know what is," Stan muttered.

"I don't know, maybe you should try massaging my back, may-maybe that'll make the lava start moving."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Nice try. If anyone deserves a massage, it's me for carrying you all the time."

"H-Hey, I never ask for you to carry me. You volunteer for that on a daily basis. Anyway, I'm sure the lava just needs some time to heat up, be patient." Even as the words left his mouth, Rick knew that patience is a virtue that Stan did not possess. His partner let out another restless groan. "You-you're such a baby, Lee. Get on your stomach."

"Huh?"

Rick rolled his eyes.

"How much have you smoked that you can't understand simple instructions? Lay down on your stomach and I'll massage your fucking back."

Stan's face lit up brighter than the lamp. He hurriedly got into position, and Rick straddled him.

"You're the best, babe."

"Obviously. But you're earning this massage."

Stan winked."Of course, anything you want babe," he sighed contentedly as Rick began to knead his back with his fists. "Ahh, _fuck._ You really know how to use those hands, Rick."

"Tell me something I don't know," Rick replied, echoing Stan's words from earlier. "Y-you _really_ owe me after today, Lee. I'm gotta think of all the ways you're gonna pay me back. First for that nasty-ass rest stop, then for the lamp, now for the massage."

 "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," Stan muttered into a pillow. Under his breath, he added, "This was the best day ever. Thanks Rick."

 Rick couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his face. He rubbed his palm in circles around his shoulder blades, alarmed by how many knots he could feel in his muscles. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to massage him more often; it couldn't be easy being the muscle all the time. Always driving didn't help, or having to sleep in the car most nights. There was nothing Rick could do about the former, however. The Stanleymobile was his baby. He'd swallow the keys before letting Rick drive.                                        

"Hey lee, you ever been camping?"                    

"Uh, few times, yeah. I mean, if you count camping out on a beach."

"You should take me camping."

"Pretty sure you'd hate it."

"Beats always sleeping in the car," Rick pointed out.

Stan waved him off.

"Fine fine I'll take you camping. Yeesh, so bossy."                            

Rick smiled to himself. He contemplated a comeback, maybe saying how he shouldn't complain since Rick had him purring like a kitten beneath him, but kept it to himself for once.

He glanced over at the lamp, smile widening.

"Hey lee, look."

The "lava" was floating around inside the lamp, swaying up and down. Stan turned his head, and the look on his face was one that Rick wished he could frame. He had never seen Stan look so happy and at peace, and he could feel his entire body relax beneath him. They watched as the fluid wobbled within the lamp, almost mesmerized as the gelatinous substance broke up into smaller pieces. In a few more moments it was whole again, an irregular, oblong lump suspended in the space of the lamp. The green light was somehow brighter than before, but never too brilliant to irritate the eyes. Even Rick had to admit, it was a pretty good piece of work.

"Ain't it beautiful, Rick?" Stan sighed, eyes glued to the lamp.

Rick stared back down at him, a chuckle falling from his mouth.

"Sure is, Lee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray for chapter 2! Our boys are startin to get attached to that lamp. It would be a shame if something should...happen...to it...BUAWAHAHAHA!!!!


	3. Science, Love, or Packing Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unthinkable happens during a hasty getaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up longer than intended, but it's one of my favorites so far. -Lynz  
> Remember to have a backup getaway plan, kids!- Fox

Rick rifled as quietly as he could through the cabinets. The storage room was cold enough to see his breath puffing out around the flashlight in his mouth. He was grateful that Stan had basically forced him to wear his jacket, although he would never admit that out loud. He grunted in frustration at his fruitless finds. What he needed was a very particular, hard to acquire, chemical. Thankfully this shady probably-government facility was a good bet. And surprisingly easy to sneak into into. _Amateurs_.

A slight turn of his head made the light fall on a container simply labeled 'XO'. Inside was the green substance they needed. He quickly snatched it up and stashed it in Stan's jacket, along with a few other useful supplies. You could never be too prepared, after all. Not to mention that mixing some of this stuff with an alien plant would create a substance that could knock a herd of elephants on their asses for a week.

 

Meanwhile, Stan was hunched over the steering wheel of the parked Stanley-Mobile, watching the minutes pass on his watch. He had eight minutes until Rick was due to meet him at their rendezvous point; up until then it was his job to keep his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble, as usual. This had been the routine for the past few weeks: driving across the state lines, looting places for supplies Rick needed to continue his work on the portal gun.                                        

He glanced at his watch. Five minutes. He hummed to himself as he patiently watched the gate Rick had scaled to get into the premises. He was slightly surprised at the lack of security, it almost felt too good to be true. He grabbed his walkie talkie and opened his line to Rick.

"Hey, you almost out of there? Over."

"H-hell yeah, Sex Eagle. I got the goods. Over."                        

"I still don't know how I feel about that code name. Over."

"Take it as a compliment. One you can really earn in a minute. I'm almost to the—well, shit."

"What? What happened? You’re supposed to say ‘over.’ Over."

No answer. Stan immediately felt his heart begin to race, palms sweating. It was only half a minute before the walkie talkie crackled again, but each second felt like an hour.

"I'm good. Just a little—oh goddamn it."

Stan could hear yelling in the background and what sounded like a gunshot.

The gunshot echoed in the distance.

"Where are you?" Stan demanded, immediately forgetting the “over” rule. He turned the keys in the ignition, bringing the car to life. He opened the glove box and double checked that the handgun he kept in there was loaded.

"One second." Heart pounding silence for a moment, then, "Near the gate where I snuck in."

"Oh, thank God." Stan sighed with relief.

"No, thank _me_."                                        

Stan could make out Rick's head pop  over the fence, and shouting could be heard in the distance over an abrupt, blaring alarm. He slammed his foot on the gas and headed toward the gate, before laying on the break and jerking the steering wheel all the way to the side. The car spun into a tight doughnut, tires screeching as he stopped neatly next to the fence Rick was frantically trying to climb over. He managed to get over the top and began making his way down. He struggled for a moment before tucking himself into a ball and letting himself fall to the hard ground. Stan winced, fearing for his partner's safety. Rick sprang to his feet, however, and raced to the car.                                 

"Go go go!" Rick urged, practically launching himself into the passenger seat.

Before his door was even shut Stan pressed hard on the gas pedal and they zoomed out of there. As the building disappeared in the distance Rick let out a laugh that was a mixture of disbelief, exhilaration, and triumph. He held up the container of green stuff.

"We, we're good to go, babe!"

Before the words had left his mouth, the car was illimunitaed by all-too-familiar red and blue lights, the sound of sirens filling the air. Stan could count 4 cops racing behind them as he pushed the car to go as fast as it could down the empty freeway. They jolted forward at the sudden increase in speed, the container almost toppling out of Rick's hands. 

"Wah-watch it!" Rick protested.                      

"I'm tryin' to get us out of here," Stan retorted. He scanned the horizon for somewhere, anywhere they could hide. The flat landscape didn't provide much cover, and the cars behind them were getting closer and closer.

"You better fix your portal gun quick! I am not going to die in some government dungeon."

"Yeah, yeah, you're too pretty for that. J-just keep on driving."

Rick climbed into the back, nearly going headfirst into the seats as the car jerked. The portal gun was cushioned on a pile of their clothes, tucked in with a pair of Stan's boxers. Rick gently picked the gun up and set it in his lap.

"Alright, sweetie, let's see what I can do to make you feel better," he crooned.

Stan glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

"Yeesh, Rick, it's not alive. I hope."

Rick shot him a glare.

"Focus on th-the road, asshole."

Stan could hear one of the cops yelling through what could only be a megaphone, undoubtedly demanding for them to pull over. _Too late for that now_ , Stan thought. His car was pushing 160 mph, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could evade the cars growing ever closer to them.

"Uh, Rick, I don't think we have much time here."

He looked back at Rick again to see him taking a deep swig from his flask.   
  
“ _Priorities, Rick!”_ he forced through gritted teeth, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Fuck off, it helps me focus!” Rick yelled in return.

One of the cars was trying to pull up to the right of them, so Stan sped even faster down the rode, jolting over to cut them off.  The tinkle of breaking glass could be heard as bags and piles of supplies they had in the trunk slammed to the side. The two of them swore in unison.

"Fuck. Okay, no problem, we got this."

Rick took the emergency toolkit from the floorboard and opened up the portal gun as carefully as he could in a very fast car. One wrong move and everything would explode. Rick always imagined he'd die from an explosion one day--he didn't want that day to be _today_.                                        

The cops were annoyingly persistent. Again one called over the bullhorn for them to pullover before they had to use deadly force. Rick glanced over at the other car.

" _Eat me, pendejo!_ Lee he can't hear me, roll down your window and tell him to eat me."

"Little busy right now, babe."

Rick rolled his own window down and stuck his hand out, middle finger raised.

"Was that really necessary?" Stan sighed, bullets of sweat running down the side of his face.

Before Rick could respond, a bullet embedded itself in the driver side view mirror as their pursuers opened fire.

"Fuck!" Stan yelled, jerking the car to the right. He slammed on the gas, driving in zigzag pattern in a desperate attempt to avoid the rain of bullets torrenting on his poor car. The majority of the projectiles ricocheted off, courtesy of a sealant of Rick's invention they had carefully coated the outside with, but every hit was like a blow to Stan's soul.

"Baby, it'll be okay. I'll get you out of this," he promised.

"Now who's talking to inanimate objects," Rick teased. Before Stan could retort he assured, "Don't worry, I'm working on it."

He got the top casing off and nestled the rest of the gun between his thighs. Sure it was steady he then took off the XO's lid and started to pour it in. It was a painstakingly slow process, Rick having to dribble just a few drops in at a time so it wouldn't get everywhere. The car was moving too erratically for this delicate process but they had no choice.

Stan kept glancing helplessly as Rick struggled to get the liquid into his portal gun. He tried to coax his car to go even faster, but she was at her limit. He glanced in the rearview to see at least three more cars had joined the pursuit. He knew it was a matter of time before a barrier was set up to obstruct their path.

"You don't need to fill her up all the way, do you? Just like enough for one portal?"

Rick gave him a disgusted look.

"Y-you don't understand the first goddamn thing about—"

There was a cracking sound right behind Rick. He turned to see a bullet lodged sideways into the glass. The protective covering wouldn't hold out forever.

"Fuck!" Stan exclaimed.

"Fuck," Rick agreed.

He turned back around and saw in the distance a line of police cars waiting for them.

_"Fuck."_

Rick rolled the window back down and shot the half naked gun. A port appeared right in front of them, but it looked wildly unstable. Energy crackled around it an irregular, shifting circle.

"Uh, is that safe?"

"Probably."

Either way they had no choice. It was this or jail. Besides, there was no time to veer out of the way regardless. The car practically flew through the portal, illuminating the car in it's bright green light. Before he could blink, their surroundings instantly changed, and they were no longer being chased down a freeway.

As they skidded along uneven terrain, Stan felt a wave of nausea bubble in his gut. He slammed on the breaks, jolting the car to a stop and flung his door open. He toppled out and fell to his knees, body shaking as the contents of his stomach came rushing up and out of his mouth. He retched for a few minutes, until his stomach was empty, and then out came nothing but bile and stomach acid. His entire body felt drained, as if he had just finished a triathalon, muscles aching.                                        

Based on the sounds coming from the opposite side of the car, it seemed like Rick was feeling very much the same. Finally the nausea stopped, and he was allowed a moment of peace. Chest heaving, he leaned back against the car, heart racing.

"Wait, so did we just...teleport?"

He heard his partner let out a snort.

"Looks like we just did."

"How did you know that was going to work?" Stan glanced up to the two bright orange moons lighting up the sky. "And where the hell _are_ we?"

"I didn't, and I have no fucking idea."

"Oh."

"Yeah." A pause. "We could have blown up."

"Huh. Well, at least it's pretty."

Rick made a sound that could have been agreement as he came over and plopped down next to Stan. He leaned against his partner, practically slumping against him. Stan managed to flash him a grin.                  

"That was close. Great job, babe."

Stan muttered a quiet thanks, a small flush creeping across his face. He cleared his throat and wrapped his arm around Rick, pulling him closer.

"So does that mean you got it figured out? The portal gun, I mean." 

"Hmm, not quite," Rick responded. "I still have a few kinks to work out, but I think I've got it down for the most part."

"Hell yeah, babe, that's awesome!"

Stan leaned down and kissed him. They quickly pulled apart.

"You taste like vomit."

"You too, dumbass."

They both suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter, clutching each other in their mirth. The laughed until they were doubled over, tears streaming down their cheeks, chests heaving from lack of air. Stan glanced around, taking in their surroundings. Impossibly huge mountains towered in the distance, but other than that they were completely alone. No civilization as far as he could see. He attributed the breathable atmosphere to pure luck.

"So looks like we're camping here tonight," he commented. "We should probably set up the tent."

"Sounds like a job for muscles."

Stan rolled his eyes and pulled Rick up with him. Rick grumbled but followed him to the back of the car after Stan quickly pressed the button for the trunk.

The trunk popped open, revealing the mess that was hidden within.  During the chaos of the chase, all of their belongings had gotten tossed around. It was like a tornado had blown through their things, wreaking havoc in it’s path.

"Goddammit," Stan grumbled, although he wasn't sure what else he could have expected.

He began sifting through the clutter, trying to distinguish their tent from all the other bags and tarps that had gotten jumbled together. His hand hit something familiar: the lava lamp. He quickly pulled it out and inhaled in shock at the crack running down one side of the glass. Stan thrust it into Rick's face.

"Rick you have to fix it!"                                  

"Hold on, didn't that guy say it wouldn't stop working? Calm down a second and let's try it out."

Rick took the lamp from Stan and set it carefully on the ground. The two crouched down near it, Stan's hand snaking into Rick's, and stared expectantly. Seconds turned to minutes as the lamp continued to look uncharacteristically dull.

"It's not working," Stan panicked. Rick was concerned to hear voice crack like that of a young boy who just found his pet splattered in the road.  "Goddamn it, _it's not working._ "     

"Shh, calm down," Rick repeated, freeing his hand to rub it across Stan's back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion. "Th-there has to be a way to fix this."

"We need to go back to that guy."

"I'm not jumping down another giant toilet, Lee. Let me think."

Rick fished his flask from his back pocket, and took a large gulp. After emitting a loud belch, he took the lamp and examined the crack while Stan watched him intently. His eyes were large and sad and trained on Rick like he held the whole world in his hands. His partner hopped back into the car, retrieving a roll of packing tape. He wrapped it tightly around the lamp a few times, then grinned at Stan. They held hands and watched the lamp for a moment, trying to will it work with their minds as they had done successfully so many times up until that point.

Nothing happened.                                            

"Well, I-I thought it was worth a shot."                                            

Stan didn't seem impressed.                                                        

"Rick, let's just go see that old guy."

"Damn, I really thought that would work." Rick began turning the lamp about, eyes darting about as he inspected it closely. "We-we don't need some old guy, I got this."

Stan rolled his eyes.

"What are you gonna do, use more tape?" he chided.                 

"Just give it to me and we'll go back to Harvey's."

He made a grab for the lamp, before Rick snatched it away.

"I said, _I got this.”_

"It's not one of your inventions, Rick. We need someone who actually knows how this thing works. I’m positive Harvey can fix this."

Rick narrowed his eyes petulantly.

"A-and how should we do that, Lee? The portal gun needs to rest after that narrow escape. Firing it off before it's stable like I did isn't exactly healthy for it."

"Alright, so we rest for the night and let it recharge," Stan reasoned, leaning over and grabbing the lamp before Rick could yank it away again. "Then you figure out his dimension address or whatever and we'll get him to fix our lamp."

"Fuck, Lee, I only tried one thing. Let me have it." Rick tried to pull it out of Stan's grasp.

"No, I want to go see Harvey."

Suddenly the lamp glowed with a bright light that enveloped them both.

Before either of them could say another word, the ground beneath them disappeared and they were falling through space. They clutched each other and screamed, bracing for a harsh impact that never came. There was an abrupt firmness of a floor under their feet--as if they had simply been standing there all along--and the alien planet had disappeared, replaced by a familiar antique shop.

"How-how in the hell..." Rick released his grip on the lamp. "How did we get here?"

"Ah, gentlemen! How lovely to see you again. Been keeping out of trouble?"

The pair turned to Harvey, both dumbfounded. He was beaming.

"What can I do you boys for, hm?" Harvey asked. When neither responded he motioned them forward. "Come now, no need to be shy. This isn't your first visit, after all.

Stan immediately responded to his beckoning motions, holding out the lamp for Harvey to see.

"Oh boy, what's this now?" Harvey carefully took the lamp, face falling as he took in the sight of the crack and Rick's attempt at repair. "What happened to my dear lamp?"

Stan threw Rick a sheepish look before turning back to the old man, fingertips meeting each other nervously.

"It's my fault," he admitted. "I should have been driving more carefully."

"Y-you can't take all the blame," Rick interjected, surprising even himself. "We-we wouldn't be in this mess if I h-hadn't gotten caught by those fucken’ guards. I tried fixing it but...well I guess you can see what h-happened."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, hint of amusement on his face.

"So you boys _haven't_ been keeping out of trouble. I can’t say I’m surprised."

They shrugged.

"Hey, we all have to make a living somehow," Rick told him.

"So can you fix it?" Stan asked, throwing Harvey the same puppy dog eyes he liked to use on Rick so often.

Straightening, Harvey nodded. "Thankfully, this is indeed fixable."

Stan's eyes twinkled in delight.

"Alright, Harvey! How long will it take?"

"However long it takes you boys to get me two hundred thousand American dollars."

Stan's mouth fell open.                           

"You're kidding me, right?"

"H-hold on, mother fucker. We didn't even have to pay for this in the first place," Rick pointed out.

"Yes, and now you've broken it. If you boys don't have the money currently I will wait," Harvey offered. "Of course, repairs will not take place without payment."

"You're full of shit," Rick spat. "Come on, Stan. We-we don't need this."

Stan persisted.

"There's has to be _something_ we can do. What about a payment plan?" He looked at Harvey with pleading eyes.

"Stan, we're not gonna be in debt to this guy for th-the rest of our lives for a fucking _lava lamp_.”

"Even so, I do not accept payment plans," Harvey replied shortly. "The payment must be paid in full, up front, or unfortunately I will not be able to complete the repair. It is my one rule."

Stan looked like a kicked puppy, and it killed Rick. He glared with all the spite he could muster at Harvey who didn't even flinch. Placing an arm around his partner Rick turned him around and started walking them to the front door.

"Come on, we don't need th-this bullshit, Lee. Crazy old fucker just wants to extort money from us. He's a crook just like every other business man."

Stan didn't say anything, holding the lava lamp close to his chest. It worried Rick how tore up he was over this.

"I'll fix this, babe," Rick said, opening the door and leading Stan through, "don't you—"

Suddenly they were back at the car. Rick and Stan looked around. The shop was completely gone, no signs it had ever been there.

"I hate magic," Rick decided. He turned to his partner and flashed him a confident grin. "Let's fix this fucking lamp, babe."                                  

"How, Rick?"

Stan looked so desolate Rick wanted to go back to Harvey's Hubris and punch the son of a bitch right in the face.

"Just trust me, alright?"

He began to rifle through the still-open trunk, searching for supplies. After a moment of rummaging, he withdrew a steel mask and a blowtorch with a wicked grin. Stan’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"No way," he refused, somehow clutching the lamp even tighter. "You're not getting near the lamp with that thing. We're trying to fix it, not destroy it!"

"I _am_ trying to fix it. You-you got any better ideas?"

"Let's go back to Harvey."

"Oh yeah, let me just shit out two hundred grand! Stan, please." They locked eyes. " _Trust me._ "

Stan took a deep breath and held out the lava lamp.

"Alright, Rick, I trust you."

Rick gingerly took the lamp and tore off the packing tape, setting it back on the ground. He slid on the mask after warning Stan to step back. After a few minutes of fiddling, the torch burst to life. He aimed the bright flame at the crack in the glass, steadily moving it up and down the length trying to meld it back together. It did not react as glass should react, and again Rick cursed magic under his breath. He glanced over at Stan. His brow was crinkled in worry, but then somehow it seemed like he could sense Rick's eyes on him, grinning and giving Rick a thumbs up. Renewed confidence surged through him. He concentrated back on the lava lamp, which to his surprise was glowing blue. Before his eyes the crack thinned and thinned until the glass shone unblemished once again, and then went dim once more.

"Holy shit," Rick muttered, before stopping to shut off the torch. He flipped back his mask to get a better look at the  lamp.  Sure enough, the glass was perfect, as if it had never cracked in the first place. There was not even a single sign of where the torch had touched it. His jaw dropped for a moment, before he was able to compose himself. He turned back to Stan with a toothy smile.

"See, babe? Told you I could fix it."

Stan rushed over and threw his arms around Rick in a tight hug. Rick chuckled, slightly relieved that it had been such an easy fix. He could rest at ease knowing Stan was happy. Behind them the lamp suddenly lit up, brighter than before. The light that had only ever been bright green was suddenly shimmering a beautiful gradient of azure and chartreuse. Stan let out an elated yelp, scooping Rick into his arms and spinning him in pure glee. His partner--surprised by the sudden gesture--clung to him tightly. After catching his breath, he erupted into contagious laughter. Stan collapsed against the car, still holding Rick in his arms; their foreheads touched, and they continued their joyous giggles. Their lips met and they were kissing between snickers, Rick's arms wrapped around Stan's neck.

"You're amazing, Rick, you know that?"

"Hell yeah I am!" Rick pressed their lips together again quickly before pulling back. "You're pretty great, too, Lee."

Stan opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes caught the lamp.

"Hey, look at that!"

Rick turned to see the lava inside was already floating around, the blobs pulling together and breaking away in a mesmerizing dance.

"Damn, that was fast," he said. "Guess I'm more awesome than we thought. Definitely better than that antique-shop-tool."

"I'll never doubt you again," Stan promised, kissing Rick on the neck once before turning back to the lamp.

Rick watched the serenity washing over his face. It made a warmth grow in his chest. He didn't say anything for a minute, not wanting to break the moment.

It was Stan who broke the comfortable silence, clearing his throat. He sat Rick down on the hood of the car, before going through the trunk. He withdrew the balled up tarp of a tent and some poles.

"I'll get this tent set up and we'll call it a night," he said, laying the tarp out on the ground near the lamp.

"H-here, Lee, let me help--" Rick started, before his partner cut him off.

"No, no, I insist. Let the muscle do the work." He threw him a wink and set to work on the tent poles. "Besides, you've done more than enough tonight. Fixed the lamp. Saved us two hundred thousand dollars. I can afford to put together a little tent. If you really wanna help with somethin', find us those pillows and blankets we took from that fancy hotel."

"You know, we probably should have just wrapped the lamp in a blanket and this whole thing could have been averted," Rick mused.

Stan paused for a moment.

"Well, fuck."

"We'll just keep that in mind for next time." Rick produced the blanket from deep within the trunk's depths. "Or if it breaks again I'll just use my amazing skills to fix it up."

Stan laughed.

"I'd rather not break it again, thank you very much. I don't think my heart could take it."

Rick didn't want to chance it, either, in case they had just gotten lucky. Instead of voicing this however he went over to Stan who nearly had the tent all set up. It was stable enough for Rick to toss the bedding inside and make himself comfortable while he waited for his partner to finish.

The tent was up and finished in no time. Stan grabbed the lamp and carefully set it in the corner of the tent, surrounding it with it's own blanket to make sure it didn't fall and crack again. By now they had learned the lamp emanated no heat, so there was no danger of a fire. He cuddled up next to Rick, who had a joint ready to smoke.

"Perfect way to end a stressful day," Stan declared.

He pressed his lips to Rick's before the other man popped the joint into his mouth and lit it. Stan took a generous inhale. As Rick took a drag, Stan gazed at the lava lamp. He couldn't stop the smile on his face as he watched the goo inside move around. Rick and he were awash in the lamp's greenish-blue glow, and Stan didn't know if it was that or the weed that made his body tingle pleasantly.

"I shouldn't have doubted you'd fix the crack."

"I am pretty damn handy."                                        

Stan shook his head.

"Nah, Rick, your science wasn't the answer.  
  
He scoffed in response.

"Then what the hell was?"

Stan turned slowly and smiled.

"Love."

Rick snickered.

"Man you really buy into all of that, huh?" Rick passed the joint off to Stan and reclined back, folding his arms behind his head. "Love, science, whatever. At-at least it works now. And better than before, too."

Stan took another hit, watching Rick fondly. A laugh bubbled out of him.

"Either way," he replied with a contented sigh, "looks like we make a pretty great team."    

Rick took the joint for one final drag, before flicking the roach out of the tent. He pulled Stan to him, and pressed their lips together, shotgunning the smoke into his mouth. Stan inhaled and grinned lazily, before releasing the smoke through his nostrils.

"You got that right, babe."

 


	4. The Sex and Sadness Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Stan get hot and heavy. And a little sad.

Stan snored as he slept on a worn, patchy sofa. He was dozing hard, grumbling as he flopped around on the less-than comfortable cushions. Given the chance he probably could have slept for days, with what his and Rick's most recent stint of partying on alien planets. To say he was exhausted would be a laughable understatement. Life had become infinitely more interesting ever since his partner had completed his portal gun. Interesting, but also tiring. His nap was only a couple of hours in, when a blinding green light illuminated the room, instantly jolting Stan from his sleep.

"Hey, b- _urp_ -abe! What're you doing?"

Stan reached over to the end table and turned on the lamp there. Rick winced at the sudden light, and Stan could plainly see how red and dilated his eyes were. He was leaning to the side strangely, like he couldn't quite stand up straight.

"Yeesh, Rick, you've been doing that geeglaxian coke again, huh?"

In lieu of an answer Rick grinned and came over, straddling Stan. He placed one hand on either side of the other man's head then leaned down so their lips were only a breath away.

"Just celebrating a job well done. We are gonna be rolling in the dough soon, L-Lee." Rick pressed his lips to the corner of Stan's mouth and mumbled, "Fuck I want you so _bad_."        

"You're pretty fucked up, Rick," he pointed out, broad hands heavily caressing Rick's hips.    

Rick leaned pack and pulled a palm-sized bag from his vest pocket. He waved it suggestively in front of Stan.

"Th-then get on my level."

"It would be rude to make you celebrate by yourself," Stan decided with a smirk, eyeing the bright purple powder in the plastic bag with excitement.

Rick returned the smirk, tongue poking out from between his teeth just a bit.

"H-hand me that mirror."

Stan passed off the long, flat they mirror had lifted from some disco, which had now become their go-to surface for hitting the slopes. Rick set it on his lap, forgoing their rickety coffee table, and poured some of the powder onto the smooth, mirrored surface. Using a naked razor blade, he began to cut the fine powder into long, fat lines. Stan watched his swift, practiced movements, readying himself for the drug-fueled experience he was about to embark on. He had thought normal Earth drugs were just fine, but not Rick. He was always chasing a new, stronger high. Before he knew it his partner was handing him a tightly rolled bill, smirking down at the four thick lines awaiting Stan.

It was an instant burn, and as he finished up the lines all Stan could smell was a bizarre mixture of sulfur and flowers. He leaned back and let the alien drug take affect. His brain felt like a caterpillar building a little cocoon around itself, and everything went blurry. He focused on the glob of blue he knew was Rick's hair as the rest of the colors swirled in the background. Suddenly his mind emerged and he felt like he had woken up from an amazing nap. The world came into sharp focus. Rick was watching him excitedly. His lips were parted slightly, slick and glistening. Stan surged forward, arms wrapping around his partner, and claimed those lips. The mirror dropped unceremoniously to the floor but neither cared.

They were soon a tangle of limbs, lips locked in a furious embrace. Senses on fire, every touch felt like a hug from ten thousand lightning bugs. They kissed long and hard until they were forced to pull apart, gasping for air, chests heaving. Rick's face was lit with a wild grin as he pressed his lips against Stan's neck, kissing and biting and drawing a low moan from his partner. Rick's lips moved further down, hands pushing up his tank top and groping at his chest, where he knew Stan was more sensitive. Stan's back arched immediately at the touch, the normal tickling sensation made a hundred times sharper by the effect of the drugs. A giddy laugh escaped his mouth, sounding to himself like it was coming from far away, like he was listening from another room.

He ran a hand through Rick's hair that always managed to be soft. Now it felt like touching a cloud. Suddenly Rick bit down on a nipple and Stan gripped that cloud tight.

Rick licked at the tender flesh, dragging his tongue slowly around the tip. It never took much for Stan's nipples to go hard which Rick adored. Even if it took a minute for Stan's dick to get hard, his nipples erected at the slightest bit of attention. It was endearing. Not wanting to neglect his other nipple Rick took it in his mouth next, sucking hard and grazing its length with his teeth. Stan gasped and bucked up, rubbing their groins together. Rick groaned, then released the nipple with a pop. He leaned back and licked his lips.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," Stan said, cupping one side of Rick's face.

He watched in fascination as Rick turned his head, placing a kiss on his palm. He kept placing kisses along his fingers, then when he reached the tip of his middle one he took the digit in his mouth. He sucked lackadaisically, meeting Stan's gaze. He poked another finger at Rick's mouth which the other man readily took in, as well. Then he took in a third with no prompting, swirling his tongue around the digits eagerly. He took them all the way in, until Stan's fingertips were at the back of his throat. Stan was dimly aware of his lopsided grin but didn't care; this was a damn good show. Especially when Rick started grinding his hips. Their surroundings began to fade to a dim haze.

His heart was pounding as his partner began to take his fingers in and out of his mouth, starting at a slow pace. The feeling of his tongue brushing against his fingers sent shivers down his spine, goosebumps erupting on his arms. The haze around them seem to grow thicker until he felt as if they were floating in space, only aware of every single place his body brushed against Rick's, his lips sliding up and down his digits. Stan's unoccupied hand slipped under Rick's shirt. Rick was so scrawny it was easy to feel every single bone in his spine. Stan traced each one while Rick sucked.

When Stan reached his neck Rick finally relinquished his fingers. He took Stan's wrist and held his arm still as he placed another kiss on his palm. Then with a smirk he guided the wet hand down towards his groin. Stan found his fingers slipping past Rick's waistband. It was instinct that made him grab the erection there. It was Rick's salacious moan that made him playfully squeeze it.

His partner's hips bucked up into his grip, giving another lustful groan. Stan felt his own cock grow harder with each passing moment, aroused by Rick's sounds of pleasure. He began to slide his slick hand up and down, his thumb swirling circles around his tip. As he watched Rick react to every little adjustment of his skilled hand, he had the sudden need to have him on top of him, grinding down on his face. Using his free hand to take a firm hold of his hair, Stan pulled Rick's face to him once more, locking their lips together. His busy hand did not break rhythm as they kissed, and after a beat, Stan pulled away, eyes wide and shining with passion.

"Hey babe," he breathed into Rick's ear. "I want you to ride my face."

"Fuck yeah," Rick said with no hesitation.

Stan reclined back on the couch (that was once uncomfortable but now felt like a waterbed), and watched hungrily as Rick stripped off his clothes in a few hasty movements. Rick clambered on top of him, practically weightless, and straddled Stan's head between his thighs. Stan craned his neck to place a big sloppy kiss on the inside of his leg, earning a soft moan.

He teased Rick at first, tongue darting out for quick little licks sporadically around his hole. Rick made an impatient sound, wiggling around. Stan grabbed his hips, steadying him, and focused on that circle of flesh. Rick struggled against his grip as he began to go in for deeper, broader strokes with his tongue. Stan reveled in the pleasure he was imparting, feeling his own cock stiffen with each moan he elicited from the thinner man. His tongue and mouth tingled like he was tasting electricity. It urged him on. He greedily devoured his partner, and soon Rick was whimpering and panting above him. Rick had leaned forward to grab hold of the armrest for dear life, eyes fluttering. Stan watched them, transfixed for a moment.

He wished he could have stayed in that moment forever, frozen in time. The instant was cut short, however, by the sound of their usually quiet house phone erupting into a rude cacophony of rings.

"If you stop I will actually fucking shoot you," Rick promised, trying to press back into him.

Though the sound was like a thousand jackhammers in his heightened state of mind, Stan obeyed, tongue swirling hard against his hole. Eventually the ringing stopped, with no machine to leave a message. The small ball of anxiety that had formed at the noise relaxed in Stan's stomach, and he was able to focus properly on Rick once again. His hand snaked up and around to take him into his hand, curling his fingers around his erection and beginning to pump up and down. Rick's breathing became ragged as he grinded down on Stan's face.

Rick was quivering and Stan knew he was close. His own cock twitched at the realization, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to bring Rick that release. He pumped faster, arm jolting with that electricity now. Rick was making small, breathless sounds. It was the most beautiful music in the world, _any world_ , and Stan acted as conductor. He kept up the pace, licking and pumping and swirling his tongue on Rick's sensitive flesh, and soon the song was crescendoing into a cry of ecstasy as Rick climaxed hard.

Rick's final whimpers were drowned out by the sudden blaring of the phone, ripping Stan down from cloud nine. Whereas earlier his laughter had sounded distant, the ringing of the phone was amplified as if coming from all sides. His partner roared in frustration, reaching over to yank the phone up and drop it back down immediately on the hook, ending the call.

The small house instantly fell quiet, save for the sound of Rick's labored breathing.

"Fuck you," he said to the now silent phone.

They both adjusted so Stan was leaning against the armrest, Rick nestled in his arms. The other man was sitting on his erection and Stan couldn't help squirming every time Rick moved in the slightest. He was ready to burst, but knew Rick needed a minute to recover.

Rick, the bastard that he was, knew damn well the state Stan was in. He brushed his fingertips up and down Stan's arm, electricity rippling in the space between them. Spreading his legs apart he reached down and ghosted his fingers over Stan's groin teasingly, not giving Stan the touch he craved. Rick smirked, then started gyrating his hips slowly in Stan's lap. Stan bit his bottom lip hard, a groan still escaping him.

Leaning in so their faces were tantalizingly close Rick whispered, "Y-you're wearing way too much, babe."

The phone echoed loudly through the room, banging the inside of their skulls.

Rick unleashed an enraged growl, yanking the phone off it’s hook.

"Who _the fuck_ is this?" he snarled, knuckles white. After a moment his face fell completely, drained of all color in a matter of seconds. His voice became low, dangerous: " _Where did you get this number?"_

He abruptly sprang off of Stan, grabbing the base of the phone and carrying it to the bathroom, slamming the door after him. Stan stared, nonplussed. His pants were still uncomfortably tight. The sound of the shower running and toilet flushing came from the bathroom; it was clear Rick wasn’t trying to be heard.

There was a ninety percent chance their fun was over, and Stan could feel his happy high deteriorating already. He waited for Rick to return, each passing moment making his worry rise.

When he eventually emerged he didn't look happy. He went straight for the counter they used as their bar and took a gulp of vodka. Stan winced at the lack of a chaser.

"Everything alright, babe?"

Rick set the bottle down heavily, and tersely replied, "Fine. You want a shot?"

"Sure."

Stan went over and wrapped his arms around Rick's bare midriff while the other man poured the shot. With practiced ease he held the glass over his shoulder and tilted it back so Stan could down it. He swallowed it in a quick gulp, biting back a grimace at the burn. Rick set the shot glass back down on the counter and made the motions to pour another. He froze, stared at the bottle for a moment, and shrugged his shoulders. Bringing the bottle directly to his lips, he tilted his head back and began to chug. It was empty in a matter of seconds. Stan's eyebrows shot up as Rick reached for another bottle.

"Hey babe, you might wanna slow it down a lit—"

Rick threw him a glare, before unscrewing the cap on a handle of whiskey.

Stan frowned as he took a long drink, only pausing to let out a loud burp. Then he hit the bottle again, and Stan sighed. Placing a kiss on the nape of his neck he said, "Come to bed with me."

Stan nuzzled his face against Rick until the other man set the whiskey back down, capping it. Before Rick could change his mind Stan took his hand and led him to the bedroom. He laid down on the shabby bed first, pulling Rick on top of him. Rick didn't protest. Soon enough he dozed off, and Stan could tell it was a light sleep. He absentmindedly rubbed the small of Rick's back and watched the glowing lava lamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here my obligatory smut chapter, hope y'all enjoyed it. -Lyns  
> It's amazing it took until chapter four for us to show you them banging. -Fox


	5. Party Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First the night turns into a party, then it turns into a disaster.

It started as a low stress, small event. They were on an alien planet, which was becoming a commonplace thing for the pair, just them and a few "business partners". They were passing around a bottle of booze that tasted like honey and tequila, yet seemed to affect the aliens way more than it did Stan and Rick.

Stan watched his partner as he emptied the bottle like water.

"Y-you guys got anything stronger than this?" Rick asked their companions, punctuating his question with a large belch.

The aliens made a disturbing squelching sound that Stan had learned was how they laughed. It caught him off guard every time he heard it. 

"Oh I got something you'll like, Rick. Let me call up Teely." 

The alien went to the other room and made a call. When he came back he had another two bottles in his noodle-like arms, and tossed one at Rick. Rick was quick to crack it open and toss his head back, gulping down half before he let out a loud belch. 

"Yeesh, babe, gonna save any for me?" Stan teased with less mirth in his voice than he usually would have. Rick didn't seem to notice as he flashed him a grin.

Rick leaned over and pressed their lips together. Stan rolled his eyes, gently pushing Rick back. He had been explicitly clear before that he didn't want to get too frisky in front of these people—er, aliens. Rick had teased him for his apparent shyness, but at the time agreed not to get too handsy. This was Rick, though.

Their company eyed them with great interest, appendages vibrating in curiosity. Stan stammered an apology as he scooted away from Rick, cheeks burning. He grabbed the bottle and took a large swallow. The taste of the liquid hit him like a brick wall; they had definitely met Rick's request for something stronger.

Stan's eyes immediately began to water as he let out a hacking cough. His barks were met with a chorus of laughter and horrible squelching. He felt the bottle leave his hand, and Rick was chugging the rest with ease. 

"Damn babe, since when are you such a lightweight?" Rick snickered, clapping him hard on the back.

"Fuck you," Stan said, hoping the red on his face would be blamed on the coughing. 

It wasn't much longer before the door rang and more aliens arrived. What was supposed to be one ended up being three. The one their host had called held up what looked like a ruby. 

"I heard someone was looking for a good time," Teely said in a singsong voice.

"Hell yeah! What've you got?" Rick asked eagerly. 

"This here is called a grople. It'll have you seeing colors only art students can."

"Do you expect us to eat that thing?" Stan wondered, eyeing it warily.

Teely smirked and put the grople on the coffee table. One of his companions handed him a metal looking cube which Teely suddenly brought down on the grople until it was smashed into a fine powder. 

Stan decided he was not a big fan of snorting things. Maybe he had a sensitive nose, or maybe one too many bad experiences had left him preferring his drugs smokable. 

Rick, however, had no such hangups.

After inhaling three long lines of the mysterious drug, he let out a loud outcry of adrenaline. Rick's pupils were tiny dots surrounded by a sea of iris, eyes glazing over with a fine, transparent film. His face contorted in mirth as his exclamation escalated to hysterics, hand shooting out to grip Stan's thigh. He passed off a small metal straw to Stan before collapsing back into the couch, falling silent and staring into the ceiling with wide eyes. Another cacophony of laughter from their companions.

The aliens all peered at him expectedly. Stan's stubborn pride kicked in and before he could think better of it, he snorted the remaining two lines.

The powder burned his nose as it had never burned before, like fire straight to his lungs. His heart rate skyrocketed, feeling like a jackhammer in his chest. The straw slipped through his fingers and the room was performing gymnastics around him. The cry that slipped from his mouth was far different from Rick's, more like a scream of fear than a jovial shout. His surroundings suddenly fizzed away, replaced instead by the void of space. He tried to shout, but could not speak. The terrible sound of alien laughter rang in his ears. The only thing tying him to reality was the feeling of Rick's vice-like hold on his leg.

He tried to focus on Rick. His partner was grinning, his giddiness juxtaposed oddly against the terror spiking through Stan. This time when Rick kissed him he was glad for the contact. 

Stan closed his eyes, losing himself in the familiarity of Rick. His heart was still pounding, and he counted each beat. The numbers all muddled together, however, and Stan quickly gave up.

When Rick pulled away—or did Stan?—the scene had changed. There were more aliens now, and someone had dimmed the lights. Stan was vaguely aware of something that must have been music. He turned to Rick in confusion, but his partner wasn't there.

Stan glanced around in alarm, trying to locate Rick in the sea of unfamiliar faces. His efforts were fruitless; Rick was nowhere to be seen. Sighing wearily, Stan stood up and began to work his way through the crowd. Each step felt like he was walking on fly paper, and the air seemed to be made of jello. Each figure he saw had three haloed outlines, most of the beings blurring together to form a giant mass.

"Rick?" Stan slurred, stumbling and catching himself against the wall. "Rick, you there?" 

He felt as if eyes were following him with every step he took, and his heart rate was accelerating again. Spooked, he barrelled down an empty hallway, away from what had turned into a raging party. Steps faltering, he whimpered as the shadows of the foreign space began to deepen and spread like ink in water, seeming as if to swallow him whole in their darkness.

"Riiick?" he called again.

Stan stumbled and collapsed against a wall, chest heaving and beads of sweat running down his face. The hallway seemed to stretch and elongate before him. He squinted his eyes and peered into the shadows, just making out the outline of a figure at the end of the corridor.

A familiar,  _ similar _ face peered back. Bile rose in the back of his throat and Stan choked it back. His head swam and in that moment the only coherent thought he could hang onto was  _ Stanford _ .

He broke into a run, tears streaming down his face as he soared towards his twin. He was met with a sudden, hard surface and flew back. The air rushed from his lungs as he landed hard on his ass. Gasping for breath, Stan blinked the moisture from his eyes, trying to steady his vision. It took him a moment to realize what he was staring at: a shiny, mirrored window. His own reflection peered back at him, wild-eyed and stricken.

Stan could feel cold fingers reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart. He bit back a sob and rubbed furiously at his face, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his own pitifulness. 

He really had no idea how long he sat there, alone in the darkness and desperately wanting his boyfriend. Stan finally managed to stop the barrage of tears. He steadied his breathing to an almost calm state. Then, very slowly, he opened his eyes. 

His own face stared back at him. Puffy eyes, miserable expression. Hair sticking out wildly for added patheticness. 

All Stan wanted was to find Rick and go home.

The effects of the drug were beginning to subside just slightly, and Stan found the nerve to clamor to his feet once again. Turning on his heels, he exited the hallway, weaving through a crowd that had somehow gotten larger and rowdier during his absence.

He pushed past aliens he had never met, calling out for his boyfriend. Though his vision was still blurry and the room kept trying to spin on him, he persisted his frantic search. Finally, he spotted a familiar mane of wild blue hair, seated once again at the couch Stan had been abandoned on. A wave of relief washed over Stan as he made a beeline for Rick.

"Hey, _urp_ , babe! Come have another hit." 

Rick motioned at the lines he was in the process of straightening out. Stan winced at the sight. His head threatened to spin again but he steadied himself on the armrest.  

"Listen, Rick, I just want to go home. I'm..." He gulped. "I'm really tired."

Rick laughed.

"Great joke, babe," he slurred.  "Y-you always know how t-to tell 'em."

Stan forced himself to focus on Rick, brows contracted.

"Hey, uh, Rick," he muttered, leaning in to speak only to him. "Can we talk alone real quick?"

Rick groaned. Anger bubbled up inside of him and Stan snapped, "Just one fucking minute, Rick."

Rick threw him an annoyed look, but nonetheless stood up and allowed Stan to drag him away from Teely and his friends. The aliens watched them eagerly as they disappeared into the crowd. 

Stan led Rick through the horde, trying to find a quiet place to talk. He peered back down the shadowy hallway from before, seeing his reflection glint back at him from the far end. Shivering, he hurried past it, slipping his hand into the other man's.

"What the hell is going on with you, Lee?" Rick asked when they finally stopped in a dark, somewhat quiet corner.

"I'm just not feelin' all of this Rick." Stan paused. "I think that stuff made me sick. I just really wanna go home."

Stan stared at him with pleading eyes. He tried to steady his breathing.

"Come on, Lee! You just need another hit." A sour look crossed Stan's face and he quickly amended, "Or, or we can get you a shot instead." 

"If I wanted a shot I'd ask for one. I just really, _really_ want to leave." 

Stan hated the desperation in his voice. He watching Rick pleadingly as the other man furrowed his brow. 

"Lee, did something happen?" When he didn't respond Rick took a step closer, placing a hand on Stan's upper arm. "Did someone try something? If one of these fuckers tried to touch you or slip you a roofie, you point them out and I'll take care of it babe."

Rick's protectiveness made Stan feel silly, like he was overreacting. Sheepishly he admitted, "Nah, nothing like that, Rick. I, uh, I just saw my own reflection." 

Rick's concern turned to befuddlement.

"Your reflection?"

"Yeah. I saw my reflection and sort of...freaked." 

Befuddlement turned to annoyance. 

"Fucking walk me through this, because I don't understand why seeing your own goddamn face in a mirror would make you want to run home." 

His voice was steady and seething. Stan let go of Rick's hand to cross his arms defensively.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay? Let's just go home."

Rick fixed him with a glare before withdrawing his portal gun from the inside pocket of his leather vest. He punched in the coordinates for home, and aimed at the wall. Time and space ripped open to form a swirling green portal, illuminating the pair. 

"Fine, go home," Rick grumbled. "I'll see you later."

"Wait, so you're not coming?"

"Nope."

Rick waved condescendingly and Stan narrowed his eyes. 

"Fine! Thanks for the portal, asshole."

Tears were tickling the corners of his eyes again and Stan blinked rapidly as he turned away from Rick. The other man must have seen, or maybe he regretted being such a dick, because there was a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"Lee, hold up."

"Fuck off, Rick," Stan said, shrugging him off and walking through the portal.

In an instant, the din of the party was muted and Stan was standing in the middle of their rundown safe house. He was alone.

After a beat, he collapsed on the couch, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He held his heavy head in his hands, still trying to get a grip on himself. He had no idea how long this high would last. The room was spinning again, and he was ready to scream in frustration when another portal suddenly lit up the room. 

Rick stumbled in laughing, falling into the space on the couch next to Stan. His snickers immediately stopped when he got a good look at his partner.

"H-hey, Lee, don't cry," he hiccuped, sitting upright to sling an arm around Stan's neck, pulling him close. "It-it's alright, I'm h-here now."

As much as Stan wanted to just let Rick hold him, indignation coursed through him and he pushed the other man away.

"You're fulla shit. Just leave me alone and go back to your fuckin' party."

Rick's eyes narrowed, and he instantly recoiled.

"I left that party for  _ you _ , Lee," he snapped. "Isn't th-that what you—eeERRUUP—wanted?"

"Yeah that's pretty fucking hollow coming from the guy who sent me on home alone." Rick opened his mouth and Stan quickly continued before he could get a word out. "You know what I fucking wanted Rick?  _ You _ . I wanted you to come back with me, not later to try and make yourself feel like less of an asshole."   
  
"Well maybe if you had had a-a-ah, an actual reason for wanting t-to leave instead of being a little bitch."   
  
"You know what," Stan said, pushing himself to his feet, "I'm done with this."   
  
"Where-where are you going?" Rick asked as Stan headed for their bedroom. Stan didn't respond and Rick followed after him.  
He didn't make it far. When Stan crossed the threshold he slammed the door in Rick's face, and then Rick heard the audible click of the lock.

Rick stared for a moment, stunned. Sure, he and Stan had their share of squabbles and fights, but _this_ was new. 

Knowing it wouldn’t open, Rick tried the handle anyway. Nothing. 

"Come on, Stan," he said tersely. "This is-isn't funny. Open the door."

No response.

"Fine!" Rick almost yelled through the door. "The couch is more comfortably than that—that shitty bed anyway!"

He waited for a reply but again there was nothing. In a huff he stomped over to the couch and flung himself onto it.

_ Goddamn it _ . Rick didn't need this right now. He had his own shit to deal with, or drown out with alien drugs and booze. The last thing he needed to deal with was Stan getting pissy over seeing his own fucking reflection. Why would that even set him off? What, just because he saw his own face staring back at him—

_ Shit. _

"I'm a fucking idiot," Rick mumbled to himself.

Stan's family. It was something rarely ever mentioned, but it dawned on Rick that he had an identical twin who, for whatever reason, hated him. Stan never liked to talk about it very much, and it had been amazing to even get that much out of him. No wonder he freaked out at his own reflection.

Rick rubbed his temple that was starting to pound. Stan deserved to be angry right now. Rick deserved to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

The grople's effects were almost completely worn off, and a certain nagging voice that Rick had been trying to drown out began creeping in the back of his mind. 

His gaze fell on the silent phone that had been going berserk just over a month ago.  _ Fuck _ , he thought.  _ I should have never got the damn thing in the first place. _

On impulse he grabbed the phone, hands shaking and knuckles white on the cold plastic. He wanted nothing more to smash it against the wall, when he recalled another fact about Stan that they didn't talk about: his asshole father. Not wanting to upset Stan with anymore triggering memories of his past, Rick gently placed the phone back down. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Rick was a fucking mess. One way or another he eventually fucked over the people he cared for. It was just inevitable. He was unable to steer himself away from those ugly thoughts he had been ignoring. Soon enough he'd have to own up to his mistakes.  _ But tonight is not that night _ .

He went over to their makeshift bar and poured himself a shot. Then he poured himself another. It wasn't enough so he grabbed a few bottles and sat back down on the couch. If he was lucky he'd go numb before morning. 

Besides, maybe he didn't have to own up the his mistakes after all. Maybe he could just avoid them forever. He chugged the contents of a whiskey bottle Stan had gifted him.  _ Here's to trying. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just about everything we dip our hands into turns to angst. It's like King Midus' touch for fanfiction. -Fox  
> Fox just about said it all. -Lynz


	6. Liquid Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan takes a page out of Rick's book.

Stan was plopped on the worn sofa, lounging in a stained tank top and torn boxers. A small television blared before him. He flipped through the channels mindlessly, eyes looking past the static-filled programs. Rick had rigged their cable antennae to pick up transmissions from all over the multiverse, and he had yet to see the same channel twice. Still, nothing of interest had caught his eye. _What good is infinite cable_ , he mused grumpily, _if there's never anything to fuckin' watch._

After a while it all blended together and he couldn't tell if the static was from the reception or a side effect of his poor sleeping habits lately. Insomnia had been hitting him hard since the party, which only meant more time for Stan's mind to dwell. Not just on that night, though it had been the catalyst. Mostly he dwelled on Rick.

At the thought of his boyfriend, his eyes automatically turned to the digital clock sitting on the side table where their old phone once sat (Rick had unceremoniously tossed their phone in the garbage weeks before without a word of explanation). The clock read 7:36. When did Rick say he'd be home? Six? Seven? Stan couldn't recall, but he was sure Rick was late. Not that he had a very punctual reputation to begin with.

_But he_ promised _he'd be home early tonight,_ that nagging voice in the back of his head insisted. _What's the use of a promise if you're just gonna break it._

The only explanations Stan could imagine were that either things had gone south and he was in trouble, hurt or dead somewhere and Stan would never find out, or Rick was just plain avoiding him.

Since _that night_ Rick had been distant. Stan had tried to approach him the morning after, after the drugs had fully left his system, but Rick had just brushed him off. He'd been hurt, but he wasn't surprised. But then Rick kept brushing him off. They hardly spoke, and when they did it was awkward and terse.               

Even when they were in the same bed they might as well have been in different rooms. Rick had taken to downing several shots before heading to bed—and more when he wasn’t looking, Stan suspected—and falling asleep almost instantly. Which left Stan to stare at the darkness trying to ignore his own thoughts.

He didn't like to admit it, but things had definitely changed since Rick answered that phone call. Try as he might, Stan could not fathom who (or what) could have been behind that call.                                       

Of course, he and Rick had a lot of potential enemies. The possibilities were almost as endless as the list of channels Stan was flipping through.

Frustrated, he shut off the tv and tossed the remote to the side. He lurched off the couch, stomping over to their bar. To his dismay, their supply of liquor bottles was dwindling dangerously low, each bottle more empty than the last.

He picked up a bottle of vodka he knew had been full yesterday; it was down to a fifth. Brow knitted, he poured himself a shot.  

It was like swallowing a dagger. Stan took a second shot, letting the alcohol help calm him.                                                        

Rick wasn't home yet—so what? He had no concept of time. Sure, Stan had no idea where he had gone, or what he was doing, and sure, part of him felt like one of those housewives just waiting around for a husband who kept having “business meetings” late into the evenings—

Stan took another shot.

He readied the bottle to pour another when he realized it was empty. Nostrils flaring, he made a grab for his favorite brand of whiskey. Bone dry.

After a moment of rigorous searching, he produced a bottle of tequila that was a little less than half full. Forgoing the shot glass, he brought the bottle to his lips and tossed his head back—a perfect mirror of Rick's nightly ritual. He was thankful they had sprung for a top shelf patrón: the alcohol provided a smooth, welcome burn as he took a few gulps.                                    

He made his way back to the couch, continuing his work on the bottle. With every drink a fuzzy feeling began to creep up the back of his neck, settling over his brain like a heavy blanket.

It was nearly eight now and with each passing moment Stan expected Rick to come home soon less and less.

Fuck it. If Rick could get shitfaced and ignore him, Stan could, too.

It didn't take Stan long to reach that point.

He never really could handle tequila the way Rick did. Stan blamed it on the fact that he heavily favored whiskey over all other liquors. Either way, it certainly did the job. A stupid grin stretched across his face, enjoying the feeling of numbness that accompanied his drunkenness. His body relaxed for the first time in days, and the bottle slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor.

Stan jumped at the sudden noise, then began to giggle uncontrollably. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his hand and stared down at the broken glass. A wave of self loathing crashed over him.

All he knew how to do was screw things up. Couldn't even hold a bottle right. He blearily tried to blink back a torrent of tears with no success.

Eyes streaming, he reached out to clean up the glass. As he leaned forward, gravity decided to be a total dick and work a hundred times harder than before. His hand shot out instinctively to break his fall, landing directly on the jagged remains of the bottle.

Pain pierced through the numbness and seared through his arm like fire, snapping him from his drunken stupor. He sprang to his feet, stumbling through the short hallway and into the bathroom.

They had been keeping the medicine cabinet well stocked due to the dangerous nature of their less-than-legal activities, but right now Stan didn't have his senses together to deal with anything fancy. He shoved his bleeding hand under the faucet, turning the knobs furiously as he tried to find a temperature that didn't make the pain worse.

Thankfully, they were mostly little pieces he could easily wash off. There was only one large shard embedded into his skin. Inhaling sharply Stan tugged it out. A lot of blood came with it, and the sink was starting to stain pink.

In that moment Stan really wanted Rick.

Using his other hand to apply pressure to his injured palm, Stan tried to staunch the wound. The water continued to run, blood dripping from between his fingers. He glanced around frantically for something he could use as a bandage.

His eyes landed on one of Rick's skimpy tanks lying on the ground. He made a scramble for it, splattering water-thinned blood all over the floor.

Every movement of his wounded hand sent waves of pain through his limb, drawing pitiful whimpers from Stan. He held Rick's shirt against his chest with his elbow, using his teeth to tear a long strip of black material. He wound it around his hand tightly to stop the bleeding, his breath deep and labored as he held the makeshift bandage in place.

Stan stared at the ruined tank. Just another thing he had messed up. It really wasn't a surprise Rick didn't want to come home.

Fuck, if Stan had just kept it together the other night none of this would have happened. Why did he have to be such a goddamn downer? Stan didn't even want to be around himself, how could he expect Rick to be?                   

All the same, he _really_ wished Rick was there.

Stan put his weight on the sink, water still running. The reddish water was dangerously close to overfilling the basin, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The tears had stopped, but only because it felt like he had no tears left. His eyelids dropped heavily, and it felt like he had sand in his eyes. He leaned over the sink, face parallel to the rippling water.

Stan stared into his distorted reflection, a torrent of emotion rushing through his head. What a fuck up. That's all he'd ever be: a fuck up. His father was right.   

And now he had fucked things up with Rick.   

Just like he fucked up Ford's invention.

Stan slapped at the water, the act of aggression more pitiful than anything. He was so tired.                                                       

With a weary sigh he shut off the tap. He cast his reflection one last look like he expected to find some sort of answer there, but there was nothing, and he dragged himself to the bedroom.   

                               

He didn't bother turning out any of the lights on the off chance Rick eventually showed up before the sun rose. At the bedroom, though, he kept the light shut off. Instead he went over to the lava lamp, desperate for its usual comfort.

Stan took it and sat on the bed, watching the lamp intently. He forced himself to think nice thoughts; he remembered the moment he and Rick found the lava lamp, when Harvey told them they could take it. A small, involuntary smile touched his lips for just a moment. It came to life slowly, or was all the alcohol and pain affecting his judgement of time? It did start up, however.   

It didn't feel _right_.

Stan should have been enveloped with positivity and serenity, but instead panic was seizing him. The light was dimmer than it should have been, the colors not as vibrant as they had been just the other day. Inside the goop seemed to have trouble rising.

The wells in his eyes seemed to have refilled, because a fresh wave of tears came gushing down his cheeks in a matter of seconds. Before he was quite aware of what was happening, he took the lamp and drew it close, curling up on the bed. He cradled his injured hand next to the lamp, body rocking with sobs. Anxiety swarmed in his stomach like angry wasps, bringing a bubble of nausea with it.

Stan had broken the lamp again, and Rick wasn't there to fix it.

He stared helplessly at the lamp that was slowly losing it's light. Stan shook it in desperation, the wasps buzzing louder and angrier as the fluid inside drooped sadly to the bottom.

Stan was only dimly aware when a neon green light appeared in the front room. He heard his name but couldn't call out a response. Opening his mouth just let another sob escape.

And then Rick was there, rushing to the room with concern in his voice as he called out for Stan again.

Rick flipped the light on and was at Stan's side in an instant, stroking his hair and checking him over. He tried to examined his injured hand but Stan shook his head and motioned to the lava lamp instead. 

"L-l-let--" Rick swallowed. "The lamp's fine, Lee. Let me see your hand.”

Stan reluctantly held out his injured hand, flinching even as Rick took his hand as gently as he could.   

"What—what happened?" Rick glanced around, eyes carefully raking the scene for signs of an intrusion. After making sure they were alone, he turned his attention back to Stan. He carefully unwrapped the bloody bandage, letting out a low whistle at the sight of the jagged gash in his palm.

The hand began to tremble and Rick looked at Stan's tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry, Rick, I'm so sorry. Fucked up so bad. I'm so sorry."

Stan kept on apologizing inanely until Rick shushed him. He stroked Stan's hair with one hand, wiped the fresh tears away with his thumb.

The wound was still leaking, blood dripping from Stan's palm to the bed. Rick slowly eased his boyfriend off the mattress, walking him to the restroom.

"Sit," he instructed, pointing to the toilet.

Stan obeyed, blinking against the bright light of the bathroom.

Rick rummaged through the medicine cabinet, quickly withdrawing a big bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a roll of gauze. His eyes caught his torn tank on the floor, and a heavy sigh left his mouth.

"D-Do you realize how-how much dirt and sweat is soaked in that thing, Lee? That-that's a one way ticket to infection city, bud-buddy. Don't worry, Dr. Rick is gonna fix you right up."

Rick offered his boyfriend what he hoped to be an encouraging smile. He did not get one in return. Nonetheless, he took Stan's hand and held it over the sink that still threatened to overflow with water.             

"I-I need you t-to take a deep breath for me, Lee. This is gonna b-burn. In three...two..."

Stan obliged as Rick counted down, splashing his palm with the alcohol once he reached the number one. Stan hissed at the sudden sharp pain. Once the blood had run off Rick examined the clean wound closely in the light. After deciding it did not require stitches, he began to wind the gauze around the wound with steady, practiced movements.

Stan simply watched him, not saying a word. The quiet unnerved Rick.                                                        

"Hey, look at me." Stan slowly lifted his head. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Stan shook his head fervently. Rick stopped his movements for a moment to cup his face, stilling him.

"Th-that's fine, babe. You don't have to talk right now." Rick finished bandaging him. "That feel better?"

Stan gave a small nod. Rick smiled.

"Good. Now, let-let's get you back in bed. Come on."

Rick helped him back on his feet, and led him to their bedroom.

They found their lamp, glowing as hard as ever, sitting in the center of their bed. The "lava" inside danced about happily, and they both felt an instant wave of calm wash over them once they were bathed in its light.

"See, Lee, I told you the lamp was fine."

Rick turned to Stan, surprised by the tears once again pooling at the corners of his eyes. Before he could react Stan was hugging him tight, burying his face in Rick's chest and mumbling something incomprehensible. Rick rubbed circles on his back for a moment, letting him get it all out.

He managed to get Stan in bed, crawling under the covers behind him. Chin on the top of Stan's head, Rick held them as they watched the dancing lava lamp. Stan hummed contentedly.

"You're the best, Rick," he whispered after a few minutes.

Rick took his injured hand and pressed a kiss to it.   

Eventually Stan fell asleep. Rick slowly detangled himself from his partner, careful not to jostle him. He slid off the bed, tucking Stan back in, then kissed him again, this time on the forehead.

Guilt racked him but Rick pushed those feelings down. With one last glance at the lava lamp he went out into the front room. There he opened a portal and stepped through, leaving Stan alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made poor Stan suffer so much, I feel bad. Not bad enough to stop the angst yet, but bad. -Fox
> 
> And the angst starts coming and don't stop coming and it don't stop coming and it don't stop coming.  
> p.s. I'm disappointed none y'all caught the Fireflies reference in chapter 4 smh. -Lynz


	7. The Best Casserole in the Multiverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out where Rick's been stealing away to.

Rick stepped through the portal, Stan and their tiny home disappearing instantaneously in a swirl of bright green and yellow. He was suddenly in a busy marketplace, smack dab in the middle of a bustling crowd. Creatures of all walks of life and dimension rushed around him, hurrying to their respective destination. They paid no mind to the sudden appearance of Rick and his portal. Pleased by the lack of attention, Rick stowed his portal gun away and began to squeeze his way through the mass of aliens.

He only had a vague knowledge of the area, knowing just enough to find where he needed to be—which was a pleasantly shady alley with one wall gratified by the symbol of some alien gang. Rick leaned next to it and idly sipped from his flask while he waited. He couldn't help his thoughts when they turned to Stan. He was obviously not doing ok, something Rick had been aware of for a while now. He didn't like leaving him alone for too long, but he didn't really have a choice. Like everything else wrong in his life, he forced those musings to the back of his mind. He had other things to worry about.                                                        

It wasn't long before he had company.

"'Ssssup, Rick?" a soft voice hissed from the shadows. Out slithered a snake-like alien wearing what looked like a leather jacket made of human skin on their only two limbs, the other half of their long body trailing along the floor. They peered at him through slitted eyes. "You got the ssssstuff?"

Rick burped and reached into his jacket, thinking about picking up a snakeskin one at some point.                                                        

"Here you go," he said, tossing a small glowing device at the alien.

They caught the device on one of their claws, bringing it up to their face to eye it closely. After a moment, their face split into a wide, toothy grin.

"Exssss-cellent," they screeched, stashing it away. "Pleassssssure doing bussssssinesssss with you."

They made as if to slither away, to find Rick blocking their path.                                                        

"I-I don't think so, buddy. Where's the cash?"

They chuckled slapping their head in an exaggerated manner.                                                        

"Sssssilly me, I jusssst got ssssso exssssssssssssssssited."                                        

As he watched them reached into their jacket, Rick decided he hated how this creature talked.

The alien produced a wad of cash that was much smaller than Rick had anticipated. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, taking the cash and counting it out. Just as he expected: not enough.

"Where's the rest?" he said shortly, pocketing the money.

"The ressssst? Why, that should be more than nesssssssessssssssssary."

"Hell no. Do you know the shit I had to go through for that?"

"Well perhapssssss we can make sssssssome ssssssssort of arrange--"

"Cut the shit. Either give me my money, or the deal is off."                                                        

"Well it looksssssss like we have come to a crossssssroads, doessssssn't it?"

They dropped their pleasant facade, glaring at Rick.

"Now, I ssssssuggesssssst you take what you've been given, or you could end up asssssss my next pair of pantssssss."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Is that a th-threat, or--eeUURRP-- a promisssssse?" he mocked.

Rick dodged to the side just as the alien lunged at him. Before he they could try again he knocked them against the stone wall, smirking at the hiss of pain that elicited. Then, as they tried to recover, Rick plucked the device out of their jacket and _ran_.

He didn't look back as he sprinted through the crowd, though he could hear the alien slithering not too far behind him.

He desperately scanned his surroundings for a clear spot to open a portal to escape without a bunch of aliens falling through with him. It was so packed he could find none. Cursing, he hurriedly withdrew his portal gun, haphazardly aiming at the ground behind him and pulling the trigger. The alien's eyes opened wide as the floor beneath them formed into a swirling portal, sucking them away and out of sight, along with a few innocent bystanders. A few people around him screamed and scurried away.

"Well that could have gone worse," Rick mumbled to himself.                                                        

He tucked the glowing device safely into a pocket, mind already listing more potential buyers. When he got a minute he'd have to reach out to a few different contacts of his. For now, he had somewhere else to be.                                      

Especially because some police were quickly approaching. Rick waved at them before opening another portal in the newly cleared space and jumping through.

His new destination could not have been more different: a shabby apartment complex on a dirty street. Dogs barked and sirens blared in the distance. Peering over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed, Rick headed towards the property and began the short ascent up a rickety set of stairs. Once reaching the second level, he made his way past doors with peeling paint, stopping before one labeled with the numbers _216._                                                        

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before raising his hand to knock. His fist hovered over the door, not able to bring himself to rap on the wood.

"You can do this. J-j-just a quick in and out, then back t-to, to Stan."                                                        

His hand didn’t knock, but instead reached into his jacket and produced his trusty flask. He unscrewed the cap and chugged half of its contents, before stashing it away again.

He tried and failed again to summon the courage to knock. Rick glared at his fist and forced it to tap the door. There, done. He waited a moment, and nothing. Cursing his tentativeness Rick took a deep breath and knocked harder.                                                        

There was some activity on the other side, and then a blonde head popped out.

"Oh, thank _god_ you're here," the woman said. "I thought you weren't going to show."

Rick laughed nervously as she allowed him inside. The apartment was small, toys littering the floor. A playpen was set up in the middle of the living area, taking up most of the meager space. A small toddler sat inside, babbling happily as she pushed a plastic horse around.

"S-Sorry I'm late, Diane," he said, hanging awkwardly near the door. He dug in his pocket and withdrew the wad of cash. "Here, I-I hope it helps."

Diane, who was in the process of pulling her hair into a ponytail, eyed the money warily.

"What country is that from?" she said, cocking an eyebrow.

Rick mentally kicked himself. "Ah, fuck—I mean, uh, I guess I forgot to get it converted."

He quickly stuffed it away and made for the door.

"I-I'll be right back—"

"Oh, that's fine," she interrupted hurriedly. "You can just bring it next time. I'll just see you when I get back from work."

Rick, who prided himself on his wit and quick retorts, dumbly asked, "What?"                                                        

Diane glanced back at him, face scrunching up in irritation.

"Rick Sanchez, don't tell me you forgot."

"Alright."

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You forgot, even though I told you _several times_ —"                                        

"Hey, hey! I'm a busy guy, with a lot on my mind. Just tell me what I apparently forgot."

"I asked if you could watch Beth for me tonight. My babysitter is out on a cruise and can't make it."

"Lucky babysitter," Rick mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, of course I can watch Beth tonight."

There was relief on her face, and Rick felt a flash of guilt.

" _Thank you_. It's only until four, I swear. Now I've really got to finish getting ready."

And with that she unceremoniously disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Rick alone with his daughter. He eyed her from a distance, for once unsure of what to do or say.

For a minute he simply watched her play contentedly by herself. Without realizing it he took a few steps forward, gaining her attention. She smiled and it lit up the whole room.                                                        

"Uh, hey there, sweetie. What've you been up to?"

Beth, being two, just giggled and reached up, making little grabby motions with her chubby hands. There was no way out of it so Rick picked her up.                       

"The pigtails are a new look. Cute."

"Cute!" she chirped back, reaching her hands up to grab his face. He laughed when she grabbed his nose, then yelped when she pulled hard. 

"Careful there, don't break daddy," he said, gently pulling her hand away.

"Break daddy! Break daddy!" she echoed, shrieking happily as he lifted her up over his head in a soaring motion.

Rick let out a laugh and teased, "I didn't realize you were a parrot."

"Horsey!!!" she suddenly screamed, pointing towards the floor. Rick glanced down to see a herd of toy horses grouped together in the play pin. He picked one up and handed it to Beth.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

"Horsey, horsey, horsey!!!!" she repeated, taking the toy and banging it hard against Rick's sternum.

Rick winced and pressed a protective hand over his chest. Fuck, this kid was a bone breaker.

At that moment Diane burst from the bedroom, all done up in her work uniform of a collared blouse and poodle skirt. Rick couldn't stop the small snicker that  left his mouth. She threw him another glare as she fixed her lipstick in a small hand mirror.

"I waitress at a 50's-themed diner part time," she explained after a moment. Her eyes softened as she looked at Beth. "The folks there tip well."

"Hey, whatever puts money on the table, right?" Rick attempted to joke. There was a small, awkward silence.

"Right."                                                        

She took Beth from Rick's arms, placing a large kiss on her cheek, leaving behind a bright red stain of lipstick.

"You be a good girl for daddy, ok?" She hugged her tightly before placing her back down in the playpen before turning back to Rick. "I left dinner in the oven. If you need anything, the number to the diner is on the fridge. I'll see you in a few hours. Please, be careful with her."

"Of c-course," Rick stammered. "D-Don't worry about us, I've got it covered, right Beth?"

Their daughter screamed in agreement.

Diane glanced at the girl and smiled softly. When she turned back to Rick she looked like she wanted to say something else, but all she did was grab her purse and leave.                                                       

Beth kept screaming giddily and slapping her hands on the floor. Rick gazed at her, wondering what he was supposed to do for the next several hours. He hadn't really spent time with a kid since he was seventeen. Even then he had never been an expert. Or competent with them.       

"So what do you want to do, sweetie?"

"Animals!"

Beth pointed adamantly at something on the other side of the room and he followed that direction. There was an open coloring book with a few crayons scattered around it. Rick picked her up and put her in front of it, then got down on her level. She made a delighted little squeal and flipped through it, showing off the pages she had colored previously.                                                        

"More Picasso than Michelangelo, sweetie. I like it."                                          

He ruffled her hair.

She laughed contentedly, picking up a crayon and going to town on a fresh sheet. Rick chuckled before choosing a color of his own so he could help her with the page. He idly filled in some lines, more interested in watching as Beth scribbled across the sheet without any notice of the printed lines and shapes.   

"Actually, Picasso can--eeerRUPP-- eat it. You're a _true_ artist."

"Eat it," Beth agreed, nodding sagely. Rick burst into laughter, rolling onto his back.

"You-you're a great learner," he snickered. He sat back up, wiping tears from his eyes in his mirth.

After gathering himself, he noticed Beth had grown extremely quiet, hands in her lap and back turned to him.

"What you got th-there, sweetie?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

She was toying with a small, glowing device that he instantly recognized: his invention he had tried to sell to the alien in the market. It must have fallen out while he was rolling around. His face paled.

"Uh, Beth, that's not a toy," he said, reaching his hand out.

Stubbornly she gripped it tight to her chest and tried to move out of his reach.

"Come on, sweetie, I'm pretty sure th-that if you got incinerated your mom would kill me."                                                        

"Noooooo," she whined as he tried harder to take the device back.

To his horror, she stuck the device into her mouth.                            

"BETH!" he screeched. He cupped her chin and forced her jaw open as carefully as he could, sticking a finger into her mouth to scoop the invention out. Unsurprisingly, she burst into tears, wailing at such a volume he was sure his hearing was permanently damaged.

"Shit, you have healthy lungs, huh?" Rick commented, making sure to tuck the device deep into his pocket this time.                                                        

The little girl continued to wail. Rick wished Stan were there; he could get her back to smiling.                                                

"Come on, sweetie, it's okay. Daddy's not mad."

He reached out and she slapped his hand, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

"But you are, got it."

He glanced around desperately for something to distract her. His eyes fells on the toy horses. He scooped one up and began moving it around as if it were galloping towards her.

"H-here, Beth, an actual toy meant for babies. Look at the horsey, sweetie!"

She let out an indignant wail, before turning and giving him her back.

Rick tried a few other toys to no avail. His eyes darted around the room again but there didn't seem to be anything that could placate Beth. An idea hit him and he frantically searched his pockets.

"Alright, sweetie. You seem interested in sci-fi shit, right? Daddy's budding scientist."

Rick triumphantly held up an innocuous cube. He crawled around to Beth's front and sat crossed leg in front of her. She began to turn again.

"H-hold on, sweetie. Look."                                                        

He pressed the cube's top, and suddenly holograms shot up between them. There were shimmering stars and comets and a vast variety of planets. Rick had been making a little map of the universe he knew of, of all the places he and Stan had visited. This was just a prototype and far from finished, as demonstrated by how the images flickered in and out of existence.

Beth was captivated. Her eyes shone with wonder, tears suddenly forgotten. She reached out for an alien moon and giggled when her hand went right through it.

"Oooooh," she cooed, eyes shining in mirth.

"One day I'll take you to visit all of these places, Beth. J-just you wait. I'll get you off this shit planet."                                                        

"Shit planet!" she repeated, clapping her hands together excitedly.

"Good girl! See here?" Rick pointed to Earth. "This is where we are right now. It's full of ugly people that don't give a shit about people like us, sweetie."

Beth looked at him, listening intently. He grinned.

"It's not all bad. You were born here, after all. And your mom. And Lee."

"Lee."

"I--yeah. This stupid planet gave me you and him, so it's not all bad."

"Not all bad," she agreed.

"Still," he went on. "There's so much more to see out there, Beth. You wouldn't believe it. I-I can't wait to get y-you and your mom off this shithole."

"Shithole!"

He laughed for a second, before the weight of his own words began to settle.                                                        

So much had changed in the last half year since he received that phone call from Diane about Beth. She had already been over a year old at that point. And now here she was, just past the age of two, already picking up words and forming a personality. Fuck. He was going to have to tell Stan at some point.

His attention snapped back to his daughter. Unengaged by his sudden silence, she had gone back to poking at the holograms. He watched, mesmerized, as she tried to trace a comet. Then she swept her arm through the images as if cutting the universe in half.                                                        

Rick pointed to a star. "This is called a heavenly body. So is this and these," he added, indicated a planet and its moons. "This star is a red giant. Over here is a nebula. And right here," Rick pointed at himself, "is an idiot."

Beth reached out and poked his chin, repeating, "Idiot."

"It's good to learn this stuff early, kid."

He allowed himself a small sigh, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his flask. He took a large drink, reveling in the warm feeling that came with it. Beth peered at him, curiously reaching her hand out for a turn.

"Oh, no, sweetie. Th-this is daddy's special juice." He wagged his finger no and hid the flask from sight. "But maybe it's time for you to get some food."

"Yay!!"

He scooped her up and headed to the kitchen. Like Diane had said there was food in the oven. Appreciating her foresight he put Beth on the counter so he could take the casserole out. He set it down far from her roaming hands and scoured the cabinets and drawers.                                                        

"Sweetie, show me where the plates are."

Beth pointed to a cabinet next to the fridge. All it had were boxes of pancake mix and cookies.                                        

"I'm on my own, huh?"                        

Eventually Rick found them. When he turned back to Beth she had opened the drawer beneath her and was playing with a steak knife.                                        

"Don't eat that sweetie, or you won't have any room for casserole," Rick told her, gently taking the knife. She let him easily, more interested in food.

"Safety first!" he said as he put on an oven mitt, before removing the dish from the oven.                                                        

After placing it carefully on top of the stove, he spooned a bit of the food onto each plate. Beth clapped her hands expectantly, crowing in excitement. He carefully balanced the plates on one arm, and scooped Beth up in the other, cradling her on his hip. He hobbled over to the small, weathered table and slid the plates down. Setting her on his lap, he speared a bit of casserole onto the end of a fork and attempted to feed her a bite.                                                    

She pushed his hand away, instead opting to dig her hands into the food and start shoveling it in her mouth by the handful.                            

"Hey, slow down kiddo!" he said in alarm, dropping the fork and gently holding her hands back. "You don't want to bite off more th-than you can chew. Trust me, I should know.”

Thankfully she started chewing. Rick chuckled.                                                        

"If Diane and stan had ever met I'd wonder if you were secretly his."

At that, Beth unleashed a loud belch. He burst out into laughter.                                                         

"Nope. Definitely mine."

Beth wiggled her hands free. This time she only shoved one handful into her mouth, and Rick ruffled her pigtails.

Rick picked up the fork she had refused and tried the casserole for himself. Immediately he could see why she was so eager. It was a chicken and rice casserole, probably the best one he had ever tasted.

"Damn kid, your mom does have more talents than no gag refl—" Beth was looking up at him curiously, still chomping away. "Uh, your mom's pretty talented, sweetie."

He took another bite, amazed by how good home-cooked food could taste. Stan liked to cook, but they rarely had the time. They had been living off gas station food for the past few years, and it definitely hadn't been good on his body. He quickly scarfed down his plate, damn near had to stop himself from licking it clean. Beth was still working on hers, smashing her hand down on the plate jovially, sending bits of chicken and rice flying.                                                        

"Honey, the food is supposed to go in your mouth, not all over your clothes."

She giggled, offering him a handful of food.

It occurred to him he hadn't washed her hands before this. Shrugging he let her feed him. Well, more like smash it against his face.                                                

"Your aim needs some work."                  

She only laughed.                                  

It was a good thing Diane kept a napkin holder on the table. He grabbed one and wiped his face as Beth went back to her food, half eating and half just having a blast.    

Eventually, her plate was also clean (if you could call it that), and Beth was starting to look drowsy.

"Oh, looks like someone needs a nap," Rick crooned, cradling her in his arms. "May-maybe a bath first, though."

Beth pouted. "No bath."

"Well, I-I guess there's no arguing with that. How about some pj's?"                                                        

"Pj's!" Beth agreed sleepily, pointing to the bedroom.

He carried her over the room and flipped on the light. To his relief, he found a set of pajamas waiting for him on the bed. Diane really did think of everything. He set Beth on the bed gently, and helped her wiggle out of her rice-covered clothes. Using some wipes he found next to her crib, he wiped her down the best he could, before slipping on her pajama pants. She lifted her hands over her head to allow him to slide on the top, before reaching up to be held once again.

"What sweetie, you want daddy to hold you?"

She made the grabby motions she had made before when he picked her up the first time, and Rick couldn't say no. She readily nestled against his chest as he went back into the front room, getting them both situated on the couch.                                                        

Belly full and sated, she was out in no time. Rick bit back a chuckle, not wanting to disturb her.                                                        

Rick stroked her blonde locks, musing on how she had Diane's hair. Part of him was jealous it hadn't come out blue, but maybe that was for the best. The less of him in her the better.                                                        

Pressing his lips to the top of her head he murmured, "This whole situation's fucked, but I'm glad you exist."

She shifted a bit in her sleep, pulling herself closer to him. She began to snore lightly, an adorable sound he could listen to until the end of time. He gently prodded one of his fingers against her hand, a faint smile touching his lips when her little fist curled around it and held on tight. Before he knew it, his eyelids were drooping heavily over his eyes, and he was dozing with her. It was the first good rest he had had since that first phone call.                                                        

Rick and Beth slept hard and long, cuddled against each other on the small couch. They didn't even wake at the sound of Diane returning home, hours later.

She was surprised at the serene scene she walked into. A small smile settled on her face.

On silent feet she grabbed a blanket from the other room and draped it over the slumbering pair. Then she kissed Beth's cheek, who didn't stir. Her smile grew.    \

She glanced at Rick. Sure he was asleep, she reached out and pushed a few stray strands of hair out of his face. Just like Beth, he didn't react

After a beat, she placed a small, hurried kiss to his cheek as well, and then hurried to her room lest he should awaken. Her lipstick stained his cheek where her lips had met his skin. She silently shut the door behind her, leaving Rick and Beth alone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter really took my heart and broke it in half at times. I hope it does the same for y'all. And how about that reveal amiright???? -Lynz
> 
> Featured this chapter: not Stanley -Fox


	8. A Stitch in Rick Saves a Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes...chapter titles...are misleading.

Rick's first conscious thought was that there was something heavy on his chest. Figuring it must be Stan's arm he reached up for it. His eyes flew open when instead of his partner's limb he felt a small body.

His daughter was curled up on top of him, chest rising and falling rhythmically as she gently snored. He gazed around wildly for a moment before registering his surroundings. Diane was in the kitchen of the small apartment, tending to some pans on the stove. Rick sat up gingerly, trying to avoid waking Beth.

When he tried to set her down on the couch she whined in her sleep and Rick quickly cradled her again. He carried her with him to the kitchen. Diane didn't notice him at first so he stayed in the doorway and watched. She was humming to herself, and Rick couldn't help but smile; it reminded him of Stan.

She must have felt his eyes on her, however, as she quickly turned around to meet his gaze. Her face broke into a wide smile at the sight of him and Beth.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, turning her attention back to the stove to flip some bacon in a skillet. "You hungry?"

"H-how long have you been back?" he asked, not meaning to ignore her question. "What time is it?"

"Morning now. You were passed out when I came home so I just let you both sleep. It's impossible to get Beth to sleep the whole night through, I'm amazed."

Rick groaned, running a hand over his face. _Morning_. Which meant that where Stan was, it was afternoon. Rick's luck wasn't good enough lately for him to even entertain the thought that maybe Stan was still asleep and wouldn't notice his absence.

Beth shifted in his arms, and raised her little head. She blinked her eyes blearily at Rick, before nuzzling her head back into his arms. He couldn't help the smile that touched his lips for a second.

"Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes," Diane went on, working on some scrambled eggs. "Do you like your bacon crispy?"

"I'm not hungry," Rick lied, even as his stomach rumbled at the smell of the food.

She gave him a look, and Rick knew she had heard.

"Stay for breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day for a reason, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the science behind the slogan," Rick grumbled, sitting down at the table.

"Of course you do," Diane said to herself with a small, almost wistful smile.

The sound of their voices must have roused Beth from her sleep, as she was now peering around with wide eyes.

"Mama!" she exclaimed as her gaze landed on Diane.

"Hey there, baby," she laughed in response, setting down the spoon and reaching out to ruffle Beth's disheveled pigtails. "Did you have fun with daddy while mommy was at work?"

"Daddy fun!" Beth screamed, pounding her tiny fists on the table. "Fun daddy!"

"I-I-I think this means she considers me the cool parent," Rick joked. It seemed to fall flat as Diane scrunched up her face and resumed her cooking.

After a few awkward minutes, she returned to set a couple of food-laden plates on the table. Rick devoured his food, savoring the fluffy eggs, buttery toast and crispy bacon. Diane chuckled at his enthusiasm, feeding Beth a couple of bites from her own plate. His was empty in a matter of minutes, practically licked clean.

"I-I gotta hand it to you, Diane. Those were some damn fine eggs," Rick complimented, punctuating his sentence with a satisfied belch. "But now I r-really gotta go."

"Super glad you enjoyed my cooking, Rick, but maybe watch your mouth around Beth. She is a toddler, you know. She’s absorbing words like a sponge."

Rick playfully booped Beth on the nose and told her, "Just wait for what you'll hear on the playground, kid."

While Beth giggled, Diane didn't seem as amused.

Rick could feel his warm welcome quickly fading. He handed Beth off and stood up, reaching into his jacket.

"Well, this was something like fun. I'll see you later, Diane."

He took out the portal gun and shot it off. Immediately Diane gasped and Beth let out a delighted squeal. Rick slapped his face. He had just gotten so used to shooting portals off without a care that it hadn't donned on him to maybe hide his intergalactic, multidimensional hopping invention from Diane.

"Uh, I'll explain this next time," he said sheepishly.

And with that he stepped into the swirling portal, right into the middle of his own tiny living room.

The couch, Stan's usual spot, was empty and Rick could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He made a beeline for their bar, grabbing a bottle from his ever-dwindling liquor supply. It was empty in a few gulps. He was grateful for the burn that hit his thirst. He set the empty glass next to the others and rummaged around for more. His favorite bottle of tequila was gone, but he managed to find a bottom shelf whiskey that was more than half full.

He traipsed back over to the couch, noting the small pile of broken glass on the floor flecked with congealed blood. Looked like he found out what happened to his tequila. He suddenly remembered Stan's wounded hand and was racked with guilt.

"Fuck me," he mumbled, taking a swig.

He stared at the shards while he drank, trying to muster the energy to clean it all up. It never came.

Rick didn't notice when the shower stopped running, already slightly buzzed from the whiskey. He shouldn't have been surprised when Stan burst from the bathroom, but it caught him off guard anyway. Stan, however, had every right to be shocked to see Rick lounging on the couch after hours and hours of being alone.

"Rick!" he cried after a startled moment. He practically ran to him, the towel he had wrapped around his waist flying off as he threw his arms around Rick's neck.

"Damn, big guy, I wasn't gone _that_ long."

"No, sorry, it's just...I missed you," Stan sheepishly admitted.

He pulled back and the joy morphed into disbelief. Something else crossed his face but before Rick could suss it out, suddenly Stan laughed to himself.

After picking up the towel he plopped down beside Rick and asked, "So, who've you been with?"

Rick went rigid.

"Don't know what you mean. I-I was just out taking care of some business," he replied, bringing the bottle back to his lips.

"Business, huh? I didn't realize business involved getting kissed on the cheek," Stan shot back, with just a little bite to his voice.

Rick's hands flew up to rub his cheeks to no avail, Diane's lipstick still a very clear stain on his skin.

"I-I went to meet Teely and his crew. You-you know those guys, they love a good party. I took 'em to a strip joint to grease them up a bit. Couple of the girls got a little handsy, but c-can you blame them? Teely was blowing money left and right." He avoided Stan's eyes, instead staring into the bottle of whiskey, wishing he could drown in it's caramel depths.

Stan made a sound like he didn't quite believe him, but all he said was, "So we—I mean _you_ —must have made a good profit tonight, then."

"Our profit will come in later. This was just ah-ah-ah, a bonding trip."

"Wouldn't it make more sense for all the business partners to be involved in a 'bonding trip'?" Stan wondered.

"Well, may-maybe you could have joined us last night if I hadn't come back to find you all fucked up," Rick pointed out more harshly than intended. He immediately regretted the words when he saw the flash of hurt cross his partner's face.

"Well, maybe if someone had been here with me I wouldn't have gotten so fucked up." Stan stared at him accusingly.

There was a sudden fire in his chest that Rick couldn't blame on the whiskey. Defensively he demanded, "Whoa, are you blaming me because you can't hold your fucking liquor?"

Stan's face was suddenly flushed with color.

"That's not what I meant," he said, averting his gaze to the floor. He cradled his bandaged hand to his chest, any inkling of his initial excitement at seeing Rick now completely gone.

"Are you sure? 'Cause that–that’s what it sounded like." The words were out of his mouth before Rick could stop them. "I'm not your fuckin' _keeper_ , Stan. Grow up."

Any retort that Stan could have thought of was stopped dead in its tracks. His mouth hung open momentarily, dazed by the harsh words, before he came to his senses and abruptly shut it.

The silence stretched between them. Stan turned away from him and stared down at his hands. Rick finished off the bottle of whiskey in a hurry, as though he could drown the guilt beginning to rise. There was a look on Stan's face he really didn't like, couldn't even look at for too long. It was a deep sort of pain. One that could only be cultivated from years and years of buildup. Rick couldn't take the blame on that. At least not all of it.

After a while, Stan unceremoniously removed himself from Rick's side, heading towards their bedroom.

"Stan, wait—" Rick started, his sentence cut off by the sound of the door slamming. The lock clicked into place. He released a heavy sigh before trying to drink from the bottle once again, forgetting it was already emptied.

With a sudden surge of anger he threw it against the wall, the resounding crash loud enough to ring out throughout the whole house. Instead of being a release it only made Rick feel worse, and he stood there glaring at the new glass that would have to be cleaned up.

"Fucking _goddamn it_."

It was the middle of the day and he had practically just woken up from the longest sleep he had gotten in a while, but he was suddenly so _tired._

Tired of the lies. Tired of the truth. Tired of everything.

But he didn't have time to be tired. He had shit to take care of. He trudged back to the kitchen, once again ignoring the piles of broken glass, and rummaged around for something to fill his flask with. Once the container was filled to the brim with enough alcohol to get him through the next few hours, he withdrew his portal gun and entered some coordinates. Shooting a portal into the floor, Rick jumped in, leaving the tiny house in silence.

* * *

 

Rick and Stan avoided each other for a few days. Days dragged into weeks. Weeks bled into months. As much as both of them hoped things would get better with time, they didn't.

If they hardly talked before, it was basically silence and grunts now. At first Stan made food when he was gone, putting plates for Rick away. But less and less Rick would bother to eat it. Eventually Stan stopped cooking for two. When Rick noticed he had no actual idea how long since he'd stopped, and couldn't figure out how to breach the subject with him. Which was fine, just meant he'd eat more at Diane's.

Rick entertained the thought of her and Stan cooking together. He bet they'd whip something fantastic up.

Too bad it'd never be a reality, though. Rick had given up on any hopes of introducing the two as soon as things started going South with Stan.

Nearly a year had passed since he had first gotten that phone call from Diane and it would be a laughable understatement to say things had changed. Rick had no idea who he was anymore. There was a time when he would have never thought of lying to Stan. It just wasn't necessary.

But now...it was all he knew.

Rick had pretty much stopped taking Stan on their "business ventures" altogether. It was easier to leave him at home, made his ever growing web of lies more manageable. If Stan knew how much money he was giving to Diane and Beth, well Rick didn't really want to think about that. Not to mention the cash he'd be shelling out for his go-to coping mechanism: copious amounts of top shelf alcohol, designer alien drugs. Anything to fill that void and keep his mind off the reality of what his life was becoming. 

In the midst of the chaos, however, Rick forgot one key fact about Stan: the guy knew him better than anyone else. And while he wasn't what you would call book smart, Stan had his share of street smarts and could call a bluff from a mile away. He knew they were supposed to be raking in way more than what Rick was bringing home. He could hear Rick in the restroom late at night, getting fucked up and passing out in the bathtub. He just didn't understand why the lies all started.

A little voice in the back of Stan's mind whispered that it was his own fault somehow. So Stan kept racking his memories for any little way he'd fucked up. Once he found one instance where he wasn't good enough–not funny, smart, competent enough–it became easier and easier to find more.

He just wasn't _enough_ for Rick, and it made him think of everyone else he hadn't been _enough_ for.

Filbrick. Ford. And now Rick.

So he stayed at home, stewing in an ugly mixture of self-loathing and self-pity. He gave up on grooming himself completely. His hair grew long and unkempt. He couldn't get Ford off of his mind. Every time he stared at his reflection it only made him think of his twin more, so he threw out all the mirrors. If Rick noticed he said nothing about it.

He grew to hate the pitiful shack they called their home. It was supposed to be a quick safe house to hide out in for a few weeks, few months _tops_ , not their permanent home. He'd given up trying to make it feel cozy. It stopped feeling like a home when he and Rick stopped sleeping in the same bed.

Stan felt like he was slowly going insane staying cooped up in the tiny place day in and day out, left alone with nothing but the alcohol and his own thoughts. He needed to get out and do something, _anything._ But he stayed, hoping maybe Rick would let him in again.

So often left alone to his thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder where Ford was and how he was doing. It had been just over a decade since they had last seen each other. He sometimes thought if he could just see Ford, just to apologize, maybe he could start being better again.

As the days went by he couldn't shake off the idea of tracking Ford down. It practically consumed him. It would be the answer to everything!

He could pack up their things, grab Rick, and just travel around. Like how it used to be. Getting away, getting a change of scenery, being together again instead of Rick running off—it sounded perfect. And then there was the prospect of his twin. Ford and Rick would totally get along! They were scientists, they'd love the like-minded, intelligent company.

Stan decided it was the only way to fix whatever had broken between him and Rick. He just needed the perfect pitch to get him on board.

So one day, after weeks and weeks of planning and rehearsing his speech, he waited for Rick to return home. It was the first time he had felt remotely excited about anything in god knows how long.

Stan sat on the couch as usual, flipping through channels on tv for hours and hours. He avoided drinking, although he was craving some whiskey for his nerves. Nonetheless, he stayed sober. He wanted a clear head when he talked to Rick. So he continued to wait, but he never showed up. His eyes grew heavier with each minute and eventually he could stave off his need for sleep no longer.  
  
He slept for a long while before Rick finally showed up. The bright green flash of the portal jerked Stan from his slumber, eyes opening to take in the sight of a battered Rick dropping to his knees in the middle of the living room.

Stan was at his side in an instant, cradling Rick's lithe frame to keep him upright.

"What happened, Rick? Where are you injured?"

"All–" he started coughing, spat out blood, and continued. "All the fuck over."

Stan lifted him and carried him into the restroom, setting him down on the floor as gently as possible. One eye was swollen shut and blood was crusted under his nose. Rick's hand was clenching his side, more blood dripping through his fingers.

Stan immediately pulled out their large first aid kit from under the sink.

"How bad is it?" He gestured towards his side.

"F-fucking terrible. I'll need stitches."

"Ok we're gonna get that shirt off you. Just keep applying pressure, ok?" Stan instructed.

Rick nodded quickly. Stan grabbed a pair of scissors and cut down the center of his shirt, gingerly peeling off the blood-soaked material from his skin. Rick held the part covering his wound tightly.

"Now we're gonna switch to a bandage on my count. One, two, three!"

Rick removed his hand and his shirt completely, releasing a torrent of blood until Stan covered the wound with a bandage and applied pressure. Rick emitted a large groan, but pressed his hand to his side once more to free Stan's hands.

"Just focus on me, Rick. I got you."

Stan flashed him a smile and Rick returned it for a moment before it turned into a grimace.

"Jesus Christ, i-it hurts, Lee."

"I'm not surprised. You're pretty fucked up. Just keep focusing on me."

Stan knew he'd have to keep applying pressure for a while for the bleeding to fully stop. He needed to keep Rick distracted and talking for at least fifteen minutes. Shouldn't be too difficult, even if they hadn't had a full conversation in weeks.

"Should I ask what happened?" he asked uncertainly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer or even deserved to.

"Was paying attention to the first guy. The second one got me."

Stan accepted that vague answer, surprised and ecstatic he had gotten that much. He poured some hydrogen peroxide into a bowl. As he set stitching tools in it to disinfect he asked, "What he hit you with?"

"Elbow spike. I dodged getting stabbed, got sliced instead."

"Alright, so I don't have to pull out a bullet or something. Good, good."

Stan grabbed a pair of gloves and a bottle of saline water. He looked around for a numbing agent but found none; he then remembered they ran out after the last time Rick had come home in a similar state. He decided it would be better to withhold that particular bit of information.

"We're almost ready to start the suturing," Stan assured him. "Just keep holding that bandage down tight."

" _Fuuuck_ I need a drink," Rick moaned. "Get my flask, it's in my back pocket."

Normally he wouldn't have hesitated, but for a split second Stan thought about the way Rick had been lately with alcohol. Then Rick let out a hiss of pain and he hurriedly retrieved the flask.

After unscrewing it, he handed it to Rick who drained it in thirty seconds flat.

"Fuck I need to be drunk for this."

"No time," Stan told him, not at all apologetic.

He slipped the gloves on and readied the saline bottle. "Alright, let me see that bad boy."

Rick peeled the bandage back with another groan of pain. Stan examined it carefully; it was clean, at least. Not to mention the bleeding had slowed considerably.

"Ready?" Stan asked.

Before Rick could answer Stan squirted the solution onto a clean gauze pad and dabbed it across the gash. Rick squirmed so Stan used his free hand to hold onto his hip.

"Bare with me here, babe. Not like this is your first time."

"I f-fucking love your tender touches," Rick joked through gritted teeth.

"There's some humor! Now I know you'll live."

Stan laid out a pad of sterile gauze and let his stitching equipment dry off. He was thankful for the clean cut; it would make this process a whole lot easier on the both of them.

He grabbed the curved needle and carefully threaded the suture material through. After setting it back down, he used the saline solution to irrigate the wound one last time, splashing it to clear any possible debris that could have been left.

"Okay Rick, I'm about to start the stitching. Are you ready?"   
"H-hold on."

Rick reached out to grab a hand towel from the bathroom floor, balling it up and stuffing it in his mouth.

"Re-ry!" he exclaimed, voice heavily muffled by the towel.

"Here goes nothing," Stan replied grimly, lining up the needle perpendicular to the center of the wound.

When it pierced his skin Rick let out a string of incomprehensible curses. Stan stilled his hand, waited for him to adjust, gave him a few words of encouragement. Rick leveled him with a fiery glare and Stan knew he was good to continue.

Working outwards from the center, he slowly stitched Rick's flesh back together. His breath grew more and more labored with each suture, and Stan was worried the pain might be too much. Rick Sanchez was no stranger to pain, however, and was soon able to steady his breathing as Stan neared completion.

"You're doing great, babe. Really proud of you for not passing out on me so far."

Stan earned a mumbled _fuck you_. It was weaker than he would have liked, but at least Rick was responding.

At last, Stan was finished with the final stitch. He was proud of his handiwork. They weren't the most even sutures but they would keep him together until it healed.

He cleansed the laceration one last time with more saline solution, before taping over a gauze pad.

"There ya go, all done," he said. "How do you feel?"

Rick dropped the towel on the floor and replied, "Glad the fucker who did this to me is dead."

"That's the spirit," Stan said, patting his thigh. "Anything else I need to look at?"

Rick shook his head, leaning back against the side of the bathtub. While he caught his breath Stan took a washcloth and cleaned him up as best as he could. A few smears of blood remained, including a clot in his hair Stan could do nothing about right then, and his shirt was absolutely ruined along with the bloodstained pants, but he looked so much better.

"I need booze."

"You need food and water," Stan corrected, gently picking him up.

"I can walk," Rick protested even as he nuzzled his face against Stan's chest.

"Not in your state you're not."

Stan carried him to the bedroom, and laid him gently on the bed.

"Try to get some rest," he instructed. "I'll get you some food."

"And a drink?" Rick asked with a hopeful tone. 

"If you insist," Stan surrendered, calling over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

After giving Rick a bag of frozen peas for his blackened eye, Stan decided to whip up Rick's favorite pancakes: chocolate chip. It was a slower process than usual, if only because he kept going back to check on his patient. Thankfully Rick had dozed off and didn't seem to be in any danger of going comatose or something equally horrendous.

He debated briefly on what would compliment the pancakes. With a shrug he just poured some vodka into a glass and went back into the bedroom.

Rick must have been sleeping lightly because he woke with a start as soon as Stan entered the room.

He offered a small smile and accepted the food gratefully, wolfing it down immediately. Stan settled down next to him on the bed.

"Looks like you're feeling a little better," he remarked.

"Th-these pancakes are fucking _amazing_ , Lee."

Beaming Stan told him, "That's probably the secret ingredient. Saline water."

Rick flipped him off with the hand that wasn't busy shoving pancake into his mouth.

Stan laughed, and realized it was one of the first times he had done so in months. It felt good.

Rick smiled in return, mouth full of pancake. He grabbed the glass of vodka and chugged it down in a single gulp. He emitted a loud, drawn out belch, in true Rick-like fashion.

It was both disgusting yet enduring, and Stan's laughter intensified.

Suddenly they were bathed in a brilliant green-blue light. Surprised, they both turned towards the lava lamp which was now glowing stronger than it had for a long time. They stared at it in silence for a moment, a deep calmness overcoming them.

"You turned the lamp on?" Rick asked.

Shaking his head Stan replied, "Must of turned itself on for some reason."

He gave Rick a slow, goofy grin.

"Weird."

Rick finished off the last bite of pancake, before allowing Stan to take his plate and glass back to the kitchen. As he returned to the room, Stan contemplated whether or not to breach the subject of Ford. On one hand, he and Rick were getting along better than they had in months. One the other hand, Rick really needed his rest.

Stan took his spot on the bed once more, pleasantly surprised when Rick cuddled up next to him immediately. He wrapped his arms around him lightly, trying not to irritate the fresh stitches. God, he missed the way it felt to hold him in his arms.

As they laid there together after months of sleeping in separate rooms, Stan decided he didn't want to ruin the moment. He wasn't sure when another opportunity like this would present itself. He pulled Rick closer to him and hummed quietly to himself as they stared into the lava lamp, almost hypnotized by the dancing fluid.

Rick fell asleep first. Stan pressed his face to the top of Rick's head, kissing it softly. He hadn't felt this light in such a long time and he savored the feeling. When he eventually dozed off, his dreams were actually pleasant.

* * *

 

When Stan awoke the next morning he was alone. Panicked, he tore himself from the bed. To his relief, he wasn't too late. Rick was in the kitchen rummaging through their bar in search for alcohol.

Stan was about to wish him a good morning, before realizing he was already freshly showered and dressed, a pack full of supplies slung around his back.

"Where are you going so early?"

Rick froze. A hard pit grew in Stan's stomach.

"Rick, did you hear me?"

"I've just got a little business to take care of. I'll be back tonight." He finally turned around, grinning. "H-hey why don't you make lasagna for dinner? I've got a craving."

"Rick, we both know you're in no shape to go out right now," Stan replied sternly. "You need your rest."

"I'm fine," Rick insisted, turning his back to Stan to continue his frantic search. "Are we seriously out of tequila?"

"Someone drank it all," Stan remarked, crossing the room to him. "Rick, seriously, you are gonna pull your damn stitches."

"Yeah, yeah," Rick waved off. "Ok, no tequila, I'll just have some good old whiskey then."

Stan put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "Rick, come on. Just...come back to bed."

Rick jerked his shoulder away, turning his head to fix Stan with a glare.

"I-I-I said I'm _fine_ , Lee."

He reached out to grab their last bottle of whiskey, and suddenly cried out in pain, hand shooting down to clutch his side.

Stan glared right back.

"Sit down, Rick." His voice was hard, dangerous. It was a voice Rick rarely heard.

This time Rick listened, going over to the couch and gingerly sitting down. He held the whiskey bottle between his thighs and worked one-handedly on getting it open. The other was busy holding his side.

Stan marched over and took his place next to Rick, turning his body to face him directly. He watched as he finally got the bottle open and shook his head as Rick brought it to his lips.

"Have you even had breakfast yet?" The words were more accusatory than Stan meant them to be.

With a belch Rick replied, "Liquid courage."

Stan rolled his eyes and snatched the bottle from Rick. After a beat he brought it to his own lips, relishing the burn as the whiskey slid down his throat. Rick smirked.

"L-looks like I'm not the only one who needs it."

Stan handed off the bottle back to him, unable to help but give a heavy sigh.  

"Rick, we need to talk."

Instantly an unreadable expression washed over him. He turned away from Stan, leaning back against the couch and adopting a cool air about him.

"What about?"

"Well, I've—uh, been thinking a lot lately. About things."

Rick said nothing, but merely nodded.

"And, well, I'm not sure if stayin' here is the best option for us anymore."

Rick raised his eyebrow, obviously not expecting that.

"Remember when we first got this place? It was only supposed to be temporary. And yet here we are still living in this tiny shithole." He swept an arm around the tiny room with disdain.

Rick stayed uncharacteristically silent, glaring at the floor.

"I'm tired of this place, Rick." Stan's tone softened. "I miss you. I miss _us.”_

Rick opened his mouth as if to answer, but only shut it and crossed his arms.

"You know, I was thinking..." Stan paused, trying to muster up the courage to continue. He took another deep, calming breath. "Remember my brother I told you about? My twin?"

Rick finally looked back up. Encouraged, Stan rushed out the notion that had been cooking in his mind.

"I want to find him. I know he could be anywhere, but hey half the fun is the journey, right? I just really want to, I don't know, talk to him. Make up with him. I think you'd really like him! Yeah, you two could geek out on science shit all day, and you'd finally have someone smart who knew what the hell you were talking about. It'd be great!"

Rick stared at him for a moment, before giving a small laugh of disbelief. Stan's heart began to sink like a stone.

" _This_ is what you're all worked up about?" he scoffed, the bottle of whiskey touching his lips once again. "A-and here I thought this was something serious.”

Stan sighed again and looked down at his hands. Subconsciously he had been pressing his fingertips together, a nervous tic of his. Usually he didn't think about it, for some reason it irritated him now and he pulled his hands apart.

"L-l-listen, Lee, don't worry. I'll get you a, a fucking mansion. Chandeliers, marble stairs, the whole fucking works. Just let me work my magic a little longer, alright?"

Standing up Stan told him coldly, "Don't get yourself killed, Rick."

And without another word Stan was in the bedroom, door slamming shut behind him.

Rick stared at the space where Stan had been, eyes vacant. He stayed there for a while, completely still. He knew he was close to losing him. He could feel it.

"Shoulda worn a f-fuckin’ condom," he muttered under his breath, finishing off the rest of his whiskey.

At that moment there was a rapping at their front door. Rick almost flew out his seat; they were not used to visitors. He approached the door cautiously, reaching out to grab the emergency bat they kept next to the frame. Ignoring the wicked pain in his side, he raised it above his head and threw the door open.

Well, Rick could officially add 'make a mail carrier crap himself' to his list of accomplishments.

The trembling man held out a single slip of cardstock. Rick snatched it from him, and the man ran away without a word.

He glanced down to see that he was holding a postcard, with the words _GRAVITY FALLS_ emblazoned across the front.

Bemused, Rick flipped it to see only the words "Please come!" scrawled across in black ink, signed by the name _Ford_. The return address showed the sender’s full name: Stanford Pines.

Rick stiffened, eyes widening in disbelief. It couldn't be. It was too much of a coincidence.

He glanced back at the closed bedroom door. Stan couldn't see this. Rick shoved it into his jacket, crushing it without a care.

He wasn't going to let himself lose Stan. Not yet. He would find a way to fix things, he just needed some more time.

Rick took out his portal gun and put in the coordinates he needed, ignoring the dull ache in his side and the pounding behind his left eye that had just started up. A second later there was a portal lighting up the room, and Rick was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the small hold up on the update! I moved into a new apartment and Fox was off enjoying their vacation. I'm sure I can speak for the both of us when I say this chapter was one of our favorites to write. Hope you enjoy! -Lynz
> 
> As you can see, Rick is stellar at handling his problems. -Fox


	9. It's Always Smutty Before the Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory smut chapter, take #2

Stan's heart pounded against his ribcage as Rick slammed him against the wall, hot mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses down his neck. A soft moan escaped his lips when Rick's hand found his chest, groping and fondling the sensitive area. His other hand dropped down and took a firm hold of Stan's hardening cock through his boxers, drawing out a louder groan.

"You want me t-to fuck you?" Rick muttered in a sultry voice. "Is-is that what you want?"

Stan nodded, and Rick gave his cock a too-rough squeeze.

"Come on, Lee, I wanna hear you say it."

"Fuck me," Stan whimpered, jolting when Rick's hand squeezed again. His other hand travelled away from his chest to form a tight grip around his neck.

"Beg for it."

Stan's pride made him want to refuse, not give Rick the satisfaction even though just months ago he would have without a second thought. Would have _loved_ to. The part of him in Rick's vice-like grip made him reply, “ _Please_ Rick. Fuck me."

Rick's mouth stretched into a salacious grin. His breath was hot against Stan's face, smelling strongly like a mixture of chemicals and whiskey. It was a familiar scent that Stan missed. He whimpered again as Rick's fingers adjusted around his throat. Heavily-lidded eyes met his in a lustful stare.

"How–how bad do you w-want it?" he asked, beginning to massage Stan's almost-erect cock.

Stan moaned, and was soon panting from Rick's teasing. He bucked against Rick's hand wantonly.

"Fuck, Rick, I want you. I _need_ you."

Rick rewarded him instantly. The hand on his throat tightened just a fraction, almost possessively, and finally Rick freed his erection. As he ran fingers up and down his shaft he licked up Stan's face, stopping at his earlobe which he bit down on. Stan groaned in a mixture of pain and arousal.

A small laugh slipped from Rick's lips, and his hand was suddenly grabbing a fistful of Stan's shaggy hair, forcing his head back. He maintained his grip on Stan's throat, and forced their lips together. He kissed Stan hard, tongue slipping into explore his mouth, stopping only when their lungs were crying for air.

As Rick tore away, he released Stan from his right grip, and began unzipping his own pants.

"Bend over," he instructed, pointing at the couch.

Stan obeyed immediately, hurriedly removing his boxers and positioning himself over the armrest.

Stan could hear Rick behind him, and at first thought he was getting out lube. Then he heard Rick sniff, and looking back he saw the other man wiping his nose. Stan furrowed his brow but said nothing; it wasn't the first time Rick had taken a small hit during sex.

After a few more moments of rustling around, Stan finally felt Rick's thighs meet the back of his own, and his hand dropped heavily on his ass, traveling to caress his hip.

Rick pulled Stan closer to him, his erection brushing across his lower back. He drew back his hand and delivered Stan a proper spank, smirking at the groan he elicited. Dropping to his knees, he used both hands to spread Stan's ass apart. Stan shivered as Rick pressed his lips to his entrance, moaning when his tongue darted out to prod against the tender circle of nerve endings.

Soon Stan was panting like he had run a marathon, shamelessly pushing back against his partner. Rick scratched up and down the back of his thighs. He wasn't gentle, digging his nails into his flesh. The differing sensations drove Stan wild.

Soon Stan was sopping wet with Rick's saliva, and his partner pulled away. Stan heard the small _pop_ and squeezing sound of a bottle of lube, and there was a sudden pressure of Rick's thumb rubbing circles against his asshole.

"You ready?"

Before Stan could answer or even nod, Rick was pushing a slick finger inside of him. He worked the digit in and out, soon slipping in another. Stan's hands gripped the couch's upholstery, and he was unable to control the low moans that began to escape from his mouth.

Rick laughed, stretching Stan out far. His free hand absentmindedly roamed Stan's hips and ass, sometimes grabbing roughly or stroking fondly. Then, when Stan was nothing but a desperate mess, Rick took his fingers out with no warning. He was quick to replace them with his cock.

He had enough empathy to ease himself in. Stan let out a gasp that just begged for more, and Rick picked up speed. He gripped Stan's hips hard enough for bruises in the morning and thrust into him with abandon, pulling back as far as he could and slamming back into Stan.

Stan drew in a sharp, rattling breath at Rick's roughness, reveling at every touch and thrust. He pushed back against his pounding, desperate for him to be as deep inside of him as possible. Rick fell into a quick, even pace, hips bucking into Stan's with enough power to shake the entire couch.

"Oh, _fuck,”_ Stan groaned when Rick suddenly changed his angle. He had found it, the curious bundle of nerves that had the ability to drive him over the edge. The tip of Rick’s cock rammed against his prostate with every thrust of the hips, sending fiery jolts of pleasure shooting up Stan's spine.

Stan bit his lip, but that didn't stop the nearly incomprehensible litany of words that escaped him. He was begging for more like he'd die if he didn't cum, calling out Rick's name almost every other word.

He was at his tipping point, moments away from climax, when Rick suddenly ceased all movement and abruptly pulled away. Stan whimpered at the unexpected emptiness, heart pounding. Confused at the lack of warning, he turned back to see what could have cause this interruption. His eyes were met with the sight of Rick at their bar, shaking hands setting up a line of bright blue powder. He was halfway done snorting it when Stan blurted out, "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Rick didn't reply until the line was gone. After wiping his nose he asked, "W-want me to cut a line for you?'

"What I want is to know what the fuck's going through your head, Rick."

With a laugh he informed, "A new blend of cocaine. Pure, pure stuff mixed with some bloopshoop crystals."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. You just stopped in the middle of fucking me to get high."

"So I needed a little break, big deal. You want me to keep fucking you good? T-Turn around so I can finish."

Stan didn't move, but instead leveled Rick with a concerned stare, eyebrows furrowed. Rick rolled his eyes and turned back to the bar, starting to cut himself another line.

"Rick," Stan said softly. When his partner ignored him, his voice grew stronger. " _Rick._ Sit down."

Rick fixed him with a glare, maintaining eye contact while he snorted the line, but nonetheless obeyed once he was finished. He took a spot in their single barstool and tore his gaze away, instead opting to stare down at his feet. Stan picked up his boxers with a wistful sigh. After slipping them back on he leaned against the bar and observed his partner, noting his bloodshot eyes and still shaking hands.

Stan wanted to reach out and take those hands in his, but didn't know if Rick would let him. Rejection would hurt too much so instead he let the other man have his space.

"You know, you never needed drugs for sex before. As someone with first hand experience, trust me, you've always had amazing performance."

He craved contact, and gently ran his knuckles across Rick's jaw.

Rick didn't respond to his words or his touch, but he didn't flinch away from them either. Stan pressed on, voice growing softer.

"Rick, I need to know what's going on with you. You can't leave me in the dark forever. Let me help you."

He instantly regretted his approach as Rick crossed his arms and gave him his back.

"Just drop it, Lee."

Stan started to reach out towards him, but with a sigh let his hand fall back to his side.

"I'm going to bed, Rick."

Rick didn't make any sort of reply. Stan didn't press him, going to the bedroom and laying heavy on the bed. He left the door open.

Not tired in the physical sense, Stan stared at the lava lamp. Its glow was a faint blue, and the lava inside moved slowly. Instead of its natural calmness, he only felt a pit of worry growing in his stomach.

* * *

 

Stan woke up alone.

Rick wasn't home. Stan forced himself to shower and dress, if nothing else to at least have something to do. By the time Stan started making breakfast Rick still wasn't back. Regardless, he made enough for both of them.

Stan pushed his eggs around the plate, too anxious to actually eat. He tried to think of anything besides the mishap from the night before, but his mind couldn't stray too far from their failed attempt at sex. It was the first time Rick had touched him in weeks, and the opportunity probably wouldn't present itself again for quite some time.

It was hard for him to not be angry at Rick. Stan wasn't sure what he should have expected; it wasn't the first time he had done drugs in the middle of sex. This time was different though, it was like Rick _needed_ it. Stan was worried and couldn't help but think it was all his fault. He had grown too _boring_. If he wasn't enough to satiate Rick's ever growing appetite for mental stimulation, could he really blame him for trying to fill that void?

Stan hated his brain. It couldn't keep up with someone like Rick. Fleetingly he thought of his twin, wondered if he had been smarter back then he wouldn't have bored Stanford so much he'd want to leave off to some stuffy college.

A portal opening up in the living room cut his thoughts short. Rick stumbled through. He looked a little more beat up than he had last night, but there was a grin plastered on his face. Stan guessed he was somewhere in between fucked up and sober, the point where you could teeter off into either one depending on what you decided to do in the next few minutes.

As soon as Rick caught sight of Stan sitting at their bar, the grin slid off his face for one faltering moment, before he forced another smile.

"Huh-hey there, Lee," he greeted, slinking his way over. He began to rifle through their ever-present supply of liquor, withdrawing a bottle of tequila. He popped it open and took a large swig.

Stan cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing about it and continued to push his food around his plate.

"I made you breakfast," he replied blankly.

"You didn't– _uuurp–_ have to. I'm not even hungry."

Stan watched him take another drink, concern growing.

"Rick, when was the last time you ate?"

He paused, brow knotting as though he couldn't find the answer. Finally he shrugged and brought brought the bottle back to his lips.

This time he didn't take a drink. Before he realized what was happening Stan took the tequila and set it down with a clang on the bar top.

"H-hey, I was drinking that!" Rick protested.

Stan ignored him and took the bottle to their kitchen sink, turning it upside down to empty its contents down the drain.

"Hey—what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Rick protested. "Lee, what the fuck?!"

"No, Rick, what are _you_ doing? When was the last time you were completely sober?" Stan asked, tone more accusatory than he would have liked it to be.

Rick seemed taken aback, but quickly recovered. Scoffing he replied, "Wh-what the hell does that matter?"

" _Of course_ it fucking matters!" Stan snapped. "Take a step back and actually look at yourself!"

"I'm doing just fine. I'd be doing better if someone hadn't just dumped my goddamn tequila, though."

Stan glared at him.

"Can't you see that I'm just trying to help you, Rick? Do you think I _like_ sitting back and watching you drink yourself to death? Not to mention all of the fucking drugs. I know where all of our money is going to, Rick. I ain't a fucking idiot, no matter how much you want to treat me like one."

The words came from his mouth in a torrent of fury and concern, with no control.

Stan forced himself to take a steadying breath. When Rick didn't immediately respond, he continued in a softer tone, "I'm worried about you, Rick. Help me help you."

Rick stayed silent. There was an expression on his face that Stan couldn't quite read.

For a minute that dragged on neither spoke. A tenseness hung in the air. Without realizing it Stan started fiddling with his fingers.

"Rick, can you say something?"

"Wh-what do you want me to say, Lee?"

" _Anything_. We just...we haven't talked much for a long while. I miss you, Rick." Stan's voice cracked and he swallowed hard.

Finally, Rick showed a bit of emotion, shoulders falling as he emitted a heavy sigh. His eyes met Stan's, tired and defeated.

"I miss you, too, Lee," he admitted. "I...." His voice trailed off and he looked away. He cleared his throat. "I guess I shouldn't drink so much," he said slowly, almost robotically.

"Yeah?" Stan replied, trying not to sound hopeful.

"Yeah," Rick repeated, firmer. "I'll slow down, Lee. I promise."

Stan's face lit up.

"Thank you, Rick. And you know, if you ever, uh, need to talk about stuff I'm here for you. Alright?"

Rick smiled. Stan tried ignoring the thought that it looked forced.

"Of-of course, Lee." He swallowed. "Thank–thanks for being there. I know I don't tell you this enough, but I love you."

Stan couldn't stop the monsoon of emotions that hit at those three little words. All thoughts of self-doubt were washed from his mind, and he felt tears prick at his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time Rick had spoken those words to him with any kind of conviction. Before Stan could stop himself he was throwing his arms around Rick, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Rick's arms came up, wrapping around Stan. It was the most truly intimate they'd been in ages, and Stan realized just how much he'd been craving Rick's affection. Last night hadn't been enough, even before Rick had done that line, not the closeness he really desired.

As if reading his mind, Rick pressed his lips to the side of Stan's head then trailed kisses downward until he was at the crook of his neck. He sucked on the skin there and Stan sighed in pleasure.

He grabbed Rick's chin and tilted his head up, capturing his lips with his own. They kissed, unbridled passion spilling between them as their hands roamed up and down one another's bodies. Stan moaned into Rick's mouth as the latter stroked his cock through the thick material of this jeans.

Rick backed Stan up until he was pressed between him and the counter. He didn't take his hand away from Stan's groin nor pause in their kissing.

Stan let himself be essentially pinned. His hands strayed down to Rick's hips which he clutched like a lifeline, pulling Rick as close to him as possible.

Rick pulled away briefly to mutter into Stan's ear about about how badly he wanted him, _needed_ him. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as Rick pressed his lips to his throat once more, kissing and biting.

"Please Rick," Stan moaned, hands moving to unbuckle his own belt.

Rick pushed his hands away, instead undoing Stan's pants for him. As Rick's mouth roamed to his collarbone–licking, biting, sucking–he pushed Stan's pants down. His underwear went with them, exposing his hardened cock.

Stan ran his fingers through Rick's hair, grabbing a handful when Rick bit down hard. He groaned his partner's name as Rick played with the tip of his cock.

Rick dropped to his knees, taking a tight grip of Stan's erection. He pressed his lips to the head of his cock, before taking him into his mouth as far as he could go. Stan moaned, his hold on Rick's hair growing even tighter.

" _Fuck_ ," Stan panted. "Oh, _please._ "

Rick released Stan from his mouth, using his hand to stroke his shaft in a quick pace. His free hand began to work on his own zipper.

"How-how bad do you want it, baby?" Rick purred, gazing up into Stan's eyes as he shimmied out of his jeans.

" _Fuck,_ " Stan repeated, followed by, "So bad, Rick. _Please._ "

"Only because you're so polite," Rick teased, stealing a quick kiss. He released his hold on Stan’s cock and instructed: "Bed. _Now._ "

They both hurried to the bedroom, stripping themselves of any remaining articles of clothing on their way.

Rick almost tackled Stan onto their creaky bed, unleashing a torrent of kisses upon his face and chest. His lips traveled further down his body, until his face was buried in Stan's ass, hand reaching up to stroke his cock one more. Rick's tongue furiously pressed and stroked against his entrance, pulling a incomprehensible stream of expletives and moans from his partner.

Stan's cock strained in Rick's hold. He warned Rick that he was close. Without removing his mouth Rick let go of his erection, eliciting a whimper at the loss. Rick's tongue gained speed to make up for it.

It wasn't long before Stan was right back at the edge. Rick lifted his head before he could say anything, though, reaching over him towards the bedside table. He found the lube and coated his fingers, all the while grinning down at Stan.

Rick positioned his fingers and looked to Stan to make sure he was ready. Stan took a deep, relaxing breath and then gave a needy nod.

Rick slipped in two fingers, and Stan's breath caught in his throat. After giving him a moment to get used to the intrusion, Rick began to move his digits in and out, stretching him slowly.

Stan moaned Rick's name, turning to bury his head in a pillow. Rick emitted a low laugh, scissoring his fingers inside of Stan to stretch him further.

"Does that feel good?" he muttered. "Is that what you like?"

"Fuck _yes_ ," Stan panted. "More. I need more."

"I got you babe, don't worry."

He put in a third finger, grin widening at Stan's sharp intake of breath. Rick let him adjust to the extra finger, but soon Stan was squirming and bucking up into his hand so Rick moved them around.

Stan moaned loud and hard as Rick worked his slick fingers in and out, pressing his ass against the stretch. Soon Rick removed his digits and slid his hand up and down his own hardened cock. After he was glistening with lube, Rick positioned himself at Stan's entrance.

"Look at me," he growled.

Their eyes locked and Rick slid himself in slowly, the pair groaning him unison.

"Goddamn you feel so good, Lee."

“ _Rick_ ," he whimpered, not sure if he was begging his partner to move or what.

Rick did, slowly grinding down. Stan squirmed underneath him, but didn't take his eyes off Rick.

Continuing the steady movement of his hips, Rick leaned down and pressed their lips together. They kissed hard and long, Rick's pace slowly increasing as Stan grew used to the stretch of his cock. His partner's erection brushed against his stomach, and he reached one hand down to grab a firm hold. His fingers slid up and down the shaft in perfect unison with his hips. Stan's back arched violently at the touch.

"I-I won't last long if you keep that up."

Rick didn't stop, undeterred.

Arousal built up as Rick's cock brushed against his prostate. Stan reached for whatever he could touch of his partner, letting out shameless, desperate sounds.

His hands clawed at Rick's back, and soon he was begging for permission to release.

"Yeah, baby, cum for me," Rick moaned, pounding into Stan faster and harder than ever.

Stan's surroundings dissolved into static, and he was lost in a whirlwind of sensation and passion. He melted around Rick's touch, his seed shooting  up and splattering across his partner's chest. Stan’s thighs spasmed as his entire body shook and convulsed, nails digging deep into the muscles of Rick's back. Rick cried out as the walls of Stan's entrance clenched down around him, his hips faltering.

With a few more sloppy thrusts Rick came, as well. He slumped against his partner who wrapped his arms around him, nestling his face into the crook of Rick's shoulder.

It was quiet in the little room save for their heavy breathing. Stan mumbled something against Rick's skin, but Rick couldn't decipher it and didn't ask him to repeat it.

At some point the lamp had turned itself on, washing the room in a brilliant array of blue and green.

They lay together for a moment, before Rick lifted his head heavily. Stan's semen was quickly drying on his chest, causing their skin to stick together slightly.

"L-let me get a towel," he whispered softly.

Stan nodded in agreement, eyes closed and a small, contented smile gracing his lips.

Rick extracted himself from the bed and stumbled out of the room. After taking a moment to make sure Stan still had his eyes closed, Rick quickly darted into the kitchen. After scooping his jacket from the floor, he grabbed the first bottle he saw and then made a beeline for the restroom.

Locking the door as quietly as he could, Rick turned the sink on and let the water run. He dug through his jacket pockets, withdrawing a small vial full of the bright blue powder he had been using the night before. Shutting the toilet seat cover, he laid out a thick line of the substance on the surface. Holding one nostril down, he snorted it as quickly as possible, closing his eyes against the familiar burn.

Without missing a beat he unscrewed the bottle of vodka he had taken from the kitchen and downed it in a few easy gulps. He bundled the now empty bottle in his jacket and tossed it into a laundry pile, to be worried about later.

Rick gave himself a moment to catch his bearings, head dizzy by the sudden onslaught of substances. After a moment, he took a deep breath and stood. The room spun around him, but after a moment it settled into being just wobbly. At least he was able to take a step. He looked at where their mirror used to be, for the first time noticing that it was gone. He wondered if he looked as fucked up as he felt.

Rick glanced at his toothbrush. He knew his breath must reek. Brushing his teeth seemed like so much _work_.  He opted for a swish of mouthwash, grimacing at the overpowering minty taste. He much preferred the taste of vodka.

After rinsing his mouth, he grabbed the first towel he could find and dampened it. After scrubbing the now completely dry semen from his chest, he finally vacated the bathroom.

He returned to their bedroom to find a dozing Stan. The ghost of his smile remained on his face. Rick bit back a sigh, and used the towel to gently clean him up. Always the heavy sleeper, Stan snored away the entire time.

When he was finished Rick pressed an almost apologetic kiss to Stan's temple before laying down beside him. He watched the swirling lamp lights without really seeing them. He would have to hide all the substances he was taking from Stan.

Rick wasn't sure what had prompted his outburst earlier, but it worried him. He thought of that postcard from the mysterious twin and hoped he didn't send another one.

It wasn't easy, but eventually Rick fell asleep, too. He nestled up against his partner, throwing an arm over Stan's chest. He didn't sleep heavily enough to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember back at the beginning? When this was a fun sci-fi romp with two goofs getting a lava lamp powered by love? -Fox 
> 
> I know I say this almost every update...but this is my fav chapter so far. Enjoy your porn, ya filthy animals. -Lynz


	10. A Cold Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan. Shit. Everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a physical altercations towards the end.

Rick rubbed his arms rapidly. Occasionally he blew on his hands, and the sight of his breath made him curse his lack of winter gear. Also, Oregon. If he got frostbite or hypothermia he would set the shack in front of him on fire.

At some point Rick had misplaced his jacket. That hadn't stopped him from portaling to Gravity Falls, however.

This had become a commonplace thing. In the beginning he had simply wanted to pop in and see what exactly this twin of Stan's was doing. The first time he had seen Stanford—peeking into his window late at night—actual blood had been dripping from his eye like a bad horror movie. Which had only prompted Rick to keep coming here to try and figure this twin out.

Currently Rick couldn't see Stanford at all; he checked all the windows around the house—even crawling on top of the porch awning to check the second floor—and there was no one as far as he could tell. This was not unexpected. Half of the time Rick's spying attempts were fruitless. He suspected there was some part of the shack that had no window access, possibly underground. He often toyed with the idea of breaking in to get some more clues as to what the hell was going on.

Today was not that day, however, and Rick decided it was time to get home before he froze to death.

He opened up a portal, casting the shack one last question-filled glance before stepping through. Instantly he was enveloped by warmth as he reappeared in their front room. He couldn't see Stan, but could hear the water running in the bathroom.

Rick stomped around for a moment, trying to circulate blood flow through his whole body. Deciding he needed to find his jacket before his next Oregon excursion and he became a Rickcicle, he started searching around their home, starting with their bedroom.

Rick rifled through the closet for the umpteenth time. He didn't know why; he never hung his jacket up. Stan would occasionally, though, but apparently not this time.

As if on cue hands wrapped around his midriff and Stan nestled his face into the crook of Rick's neck, placing a kiss there. Rick reached up and ran his fingers absentmindedly through Stan's wet hair.

"What're you looking for, honeypants?"

"My jacket." Rick paused. "The fuck did you just call me?"

"I got bored with 'babe'."

Rick snorted. "Cute. Anyway, have you seen it?"

"Nope. But here, just use mine," Stan offered, already pulling his jacket from a hanger. "I don't get cold easily since I have actual meat on my bones."

"Thanks, babe," Rick said, flipping him off.

"Anything for my honeypants."

"Okay, that's gonna get old real quick."

"Whatever you say, honeypants."

Stan laughed as Rick groaned and ran out of the room and into the kitchen. He followed him out, watching as Rick haphazardly threw together a sandwich and shoved it in his mouth.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" Stan questioned, leaning over the bar.

"Gotta meet with some Blimflamps from Zeekle-30 to make a deal," Rick answered after a taking a large swallow of his sandwich.

"See, that sounds like made up garbage to me, but whatever. When're you coming back? I'm making something special for dinner."

"Aww. Y-you know I'd settle for a fast food hamburger and you already naked on the bed when I get back."

"A real charmer, ain'tcha?"

Rick stole a quick kiss before coming around to the other side of the bar, stopping beside his partner. Stan smiled fondly and sat down on a stool. Then he pulled Rick onto his lap and for the next few minutes they shared a proper kiss.

After pulling away Rick caught a glimpse of the clock on the stove and jolted.

"Fuck, I'm running late," he said, grabbing his portal gun from the top of the bar. "Thanks for the jacket, babe. I'll see you later for dinner, I shouldn't be gone longer than a few hours."

"See ya, honeypants." Rick groaned again, and Stan smiled. "Stay safe."

"I'll try."

Rick winked at Stan, before typing some coordinates into his portal gun. He aimed at the wall and fired off, stepping into the portal that subsequently opened up. He was gone in an instant.

While not being completely honest, Rick hadn't flat out lied. More like he just omitted the full picture.

There were indeed some Blimflamps he was meeting up with, but the deal was for him to get a quick pick-me-up before seeing Diane. Just a few lines of Zeekle-Zooms crushed up with his own stuff, cryonk—which were a type of alien berries that humans reacted to like cocaine but lasted way longer. They were _fantastic._

Soon Rick was giddy and energetic like a toddler, and felt like he could give Beth a run for her money. He portaled to Diane's with a wide smile on his face.

He knocked on her door a bit harder and faster than he meant, and reminded himself to tone it down. Diane was opening the door almost instantly, face cracking into a grin upon seeing Rick.

"Rick! You made it," she said, a little breathless. "Come in!"

She opened the door, welcoming him into the small apartment. Boxes were stacked high against bare walls, and all of the furniture she owned was crowded together in the living room. Beth was nowhere to be seen.

"Wh-where's Beth?" Rick questioned, slightly let down. He had been looking forward to seeing her again.

"Oh, Julia picked her up a few minutes ago," Diane answered. When Rick threw her a questioning look, she went on, "Oh, Julia is my new babysitter. She's only slightly more reliable than Matthew was."

"Matthew was a piece of shit. Flakier than a bad case of dandruff."

Diane laughed.

"Well, he's hitchhiking his way across the country now. And I say good riddance. Anyway, I thought it'd be easier to move without a kid running around all over the place."

Rick nodded, thankful for her foresight. After a second thought, having Beth around didn't seem like the best idea after all.

"So do you have a truck or something so we can start loading up?" Diane questioned. "My new place is just on the other side of town."

Rick raised his eyebrow as he pulled out the portal gun. He held it up pointedly and told her, "T-trucks are for chumps, I'm a genius."

"Oh, I totally forgot," Diane laughed, shaking her head. "Well this should be a lot easier than I expected!"  
  
"Just leave it all—eeeRUUUP—to me."

Diane gave Rick the address for her new place. After figuring out the coordinates, he typed them in and opened up a portal on her wall.

Diane's eyes lit up. She had seen the portal a few times now, but each time she gazed at it with awe. Rick fondly remembered when he had explained the gun to her, how she instantly accepted his reality. In fact, she seemed ecstatic to be a part of it.

"So what's going over first?"

Diane slowly pointed to a pile of boxes, unable to tear her eyes away from the portal. Rick caught himself staring at the way the green light reflected off her soft, blonde hair and smooth skin. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to look away. He picked up a couple of boxes stacked on top of each other and led the way into the portal.

He sat the boxes down and turned back around just in time to see Diane come through the portal. Her eyes were wide in wonder, mouth forming an 'o'.

"How'd it feel?"

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Diane let out a squeal and threw her arms around him.

"That good?" Rick teased, ignoring the thought of how it was so much like the first time Stan had gone through a stable portal. The only difference was he had swung Rick around, then dipped him for a kiss.

Pulling back Diane said, "That. Was. _Incredible._ My skin still feels all tingly!"

"Ha, y-you get used to it." Rick smiled.

He looked around to take in the sight of Diane's new place. They were standing in a much larger living room, a thick, maroon carpet beneath their feet. A wide, arching doorway revealed a separate dining room attached to a spacious kitchen, and a hallway led to what could only be the bedrooms and bathroom. A set of bay windows in the front of the living room shared a view of a front yard. Rick let out a low whistle.

"Damn, this is an _upgrade,”_ he commented.

Diane stepped back and swept her eyes over her new home. She looked elated.

"It really is. I've never lived anywhere this nice. And it's all thanks to you, Rick."

Before Rick could answer Diane had disappeared through portal again. He followed her through to retrieve more boxes.

With the aide of his portal gun, the pair made quick work out of their task. They were finished within an hour or so, barely breaking a sweat. Rick was pleasantly surprised how long his energetic high lasted; he didn't even feel the need for a pick-me up until they were just about done. After excusing himself to the restroom, he took a quick bump off the end of a key, perking up instantly.

He returned to the living room to find Diane in the kitchen, removing the foil from a bottle of champagne. He raised his eyebrow in surprise, before breaking into a smile.

"L-looks like it's time to celebrate, huh?" he said, leaning against the doorway.

She gave him a small smile and motioned him over. He obliged, putting his elbows on the counter and eying the bottle.

"Not quite sure where my good glasses are," Diane admitted, "and I don't want to deal with dirty dishes anyway. Hope you don't mind drinking straight out of the bottle."

Rick couldn't help the barking laughter that left his mouth.

"Glasses are for reading,” he joked. "Pass me that bottle."

Rick took the bottle and easily uncorked it. He went to take a drink of it too soon, and the champagne foamed up and shot into his nose. He choked, almost dropping the bottle as he fell back against the counter.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

Rick gave her a shaky thumbs up. She sighed in relief, then immediately laughed so hard she snorted.

"H-hey what's so funny?" Rick coughed, offering a rueful smile. He maintained his grip on the neck of the bottle as he sat it down on the counter.

"You just looked so surprised!" Diane's wheezed, nearly doubling over with her laughter. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. "I'm sorry, that was just too funny. I'm glad you're ok."

"I've survived much worse," he reassured her.

She placed her hand on the bottle, right on top of Rick's. Her blue eyes locked with his, full of gratitude.

"I really have to thank you again, Rick. None of this would have been possible without you."

She placed a small, quick kiss on his cheek. Before he could respond, she pulled the bottle from his hands to take a large gulp. After swallowing down the champagne she let out a large belch.

"G-good one!"

She giggled, taking a step closer to him. Rick realized just how close they were.

"H-hey, you gonna hog that?"

Diane flashed him a grin before taking another sip. Then she pressed the champagne back into his hand.

"You know, you're really something else, Rick."

Rick took a generous drink while waiting for her to continue. All Diane did was watch him.

"I get that, that a lot. Most people don't mean anything good by it."

"Well I do." She said it with such conviction Rick couldn't help but be taken aback. "When we first met, all those years ago, I just wanted to get you naked. You may not have noticed, but you're amazingly attractive. Or maybe I just have a thing for guys who can play guitar."

"That one, yeah."

She chuckled and continued, "I thought you were so interesting back then. Now I _know_ how interesting you are. Not just because you're a genius, but just..."

Rick watched her carefully as she trailed off, casting her eyes down at the floor. She didn't speak for a moment, and Rick didn't either. Instead he handed her the bottle. She took a gulp to rival his.

"You're a real sweet guy, Rick Sanchez."

"Champagne must be going to your head."

"Maybe. Just take the compliment, will you?" She took another drink before passing it back to Rick. "You know what? Let's go out for dinner and drinks. My treat. We deserve it."

"Oh, I don't want you spending money on me," Rick protested. "I'm fine—"

"You're not getting out of this one, Rick," Diane cut him off. "I _insist_. It's the least I can do. Besides, Julia has Beth until later and then she's staying with my mom for the night until I can get her bed set up."

When Rick didn't answer she threw him a pleading look not unlike the one Stan liked to use on him so often.

He sighed, defeated.

"How could I say 'no'?”

* * *

 

Stan whistled off-key to himself as he opened up the oven and removed a heavy pan. He was excited to see how his lasagne came out; he'd been experimenting more in the kitchen lately, and was trying out a few new things on one of Rick's favorite dishes. Maybe it was a little mushy of him, but he wanted to reward Rick. His partner had been trying so hard lately. No drugs, watching his drinking. It was impressive. And, well, he deserved a special treat.

The lasagna was perfect: top layer of cheese browned and bubbly, the edges nice and crusty. He left the pan on top of the stove to cool.

Stan made his way out of the kitchen and to the bathroom for a quick shower. Stepping through the door, he almost screamed when he saw a face peering back at him from the opposite wall. It only took him a moment to realize he was gazing at his own reflection. A new mirror hung over the sink that hadn't been there the day before. Rick must have put it there without telling him.

After calming himself, Stan carefully approached the mirror. He stared at himself intently for the first time in months. His hair had grown out longer than it had ever been, falling past his shoulders in thick waves. His beard was coming through as well, way past the “five o'clock shadow” look he preferred. He almost didn't recognize himself.

He tried to run his fingers through his hair, digits halting when they met tangled knots. He sighed heavily. Is this what Rick had been looking at these last few months? Stan was almost ashamed of himself. How could he let his sense of self-grooming fall so far off the wayside?

Stan opened their medicine cabinet and rummaged around until he found a razor and pair of scissors. It was time for a little change. He fitted the scissors around one hand, and used the other to hold out a lock of hair. Stan snipped, letting the tuft of hair drop to the floor. He watched as it danced through the air, spinning in circles before landing gently on the ground. Taking a deep breath, Stan looked back at the mirror, and continued.

He slowly made his way around his head, working to clear the hair from around his face. As each lock fell to the ground, it was like the huge rock Stan had been holding on his shoulders was slowly being chipped away. After clearing up his face, he decided he'd wait for Rick's help to finish the rest. He didn't trust himself to not totally screw up the back of his hair.

Once finished with his hair, Stan slathered some shaving cream around his chin and jaw, picking up the razor. After shaving his beard, he splashed his face and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. He glanced back to the mirror. Stan almost laughed when he realized that he had inadvertently given himself a mullet. Still, it was better than the hermit look he was rocking before. He shed his clothes and stepped in the shower to rinse off the itchy bits of hair that clung to his skin.

Once finished Stan stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel dry to his body. Pieces of his hair littered the bathroom floor. He wrinkled his nose; that would need to be cleaned up quickly. He hurried to his room to throw on some clean clothes before grabbing a broom and dust pan from the kitchen.

He tried to sweep quickly, but in true hair clippings fashion they had gotten all over. The size of the bathroom didn't help, or the fact there was a pile of laundry in the corner they'd been too caught up to do. Well, he had been too caught up. Rick seemed to be allergic to laundry.

After finally getting the loose hairs into the dust bin and then the trash, Stan eyed the mountain of laundry with dread. He had put it off long enough; he'd have to wash clothes sooner or later. He plopped himself on the floor right next to the overflowing basket, and began sorting the clothes into colors and whites.

Stan was halfway through the pile when he came across a familiar leather jacket. No wonder Rick wasn't able to find it in this huge mess. Stan was elated at the thought of being able to show it to him when he came home. He grabbed the jacket to put it away, surprised to find it being weighed down by something. He yanked up, jerking it from the pile of clothes. The bundled jacket unraveled and out rolled an empty bottle of vodka, gleaming in the light of the bathroom.

Obviously the jacket had been missing for a while. Stan thought back to the last time Rick had worn it, smiling in relief at the realization it was before their talk and his promise.

Stan shook the jacket out, brushing stray hair and lint off it. Something fell out.

A crumpled piece of paper was at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, and shove it back in the pocket, when he caught a glimpse of one side. His heart stopped when he saw a name he never thought he'd see again in writing: _Stanford._

For a minute he stared down at the signature in shock. It wasn't like his twin's usual cursive handwriting, written in large frantic letters, but he could still tell it was his. Stanford's.

In a trance Stan picked it up and smoothed the postcard out. He read the scarce words several times. He could hardly believe his eyes. _Please come._

There was a return address for somewhere called Gravity Falls. The postcard began to tremble in his hands, and he swallowed past a lump hardening in his throat.

Stan couldn't comprehend what he had found. A note from his brother. Stowed away in Rick's jacket. The cogs in his head slowly started turning, filling him with unanswered questions: How long had Rick been keeping this from him? Why had Ford sent this in the first place? Was he ok? Was Stan too late?

He remembered how long the jacket had been missing, and Stan clenched the postcard, returning it to the crumpled state he had found it in. The numbness he had been feeling was now being overcome by a white hot anger. Stan was torn between wanting to get his hands on Rick and get an answer out of him, and finding out where the hell this Gravity Falls was.

Rick would be home soon. Stan took the postcard and jacket with him into the kitchen and waited.

* * *

 

Rick and Diane laugh raucously as they stumbled through the portal. It disappeared behind them, leaving them in her darkened bedroom.

"Oh damn, where's that light switch?" Diane said drunkenly, reaching her arms out to feel out the space in front of her.

All she she managed was to grope Rick's chest. She snickered and reached up with her other hand.

"Y-you should probably get some sleep," Rick suggested. Her hands were warm, and a heat coursed through him.

"Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind. You know what is on my mind?"

"Hm?"

"You." Suddenly her breath was tickling his neck. "Stay the night?"

Rick knew he should be saying no, but instead he said, "That's an idea. Not a good one, but an idea."

Diane giggled.

"That's not the only bad idea I have."

Before he could stop himself the words _show me_ were out of his mouth. Then Diane's was on his.

One of her hands found its way up his shirt while the other grabbed onto his belt. On instinct Rick's arms curled around her and he pulled Diane closer to him. He kissed her back, his tongue coaxing her lips apart to dart in, and he officially could not leave all the blame on her for this.

Diane's lips tore from his and moved down his neck. He pulled from her for a second to slide his shirt over his back, dropping it to the floor. Her mouth was on his throat again, placing kisses down his chest. Rick stifled a moan as her hand slid down his unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck," he hissed as Diane ran her fingers over his head.

"That's the plan."

Then she was on her knees pulling his pants down, boxers and all. Rick shivered as she ran her tongue along the length of his cock. She licked and kissed his length to hardness.

Rick couldn't hold back the stream of swears that dropped from his mouth as she took his erection between her lips. Her tongue swirled around his head, before she began sucking, hard. His hand dropped to the crown of her head, fingers gripping the soft hair he found there.

He had forgotten how far she could take him in, but Diane quickly reminded him now as his tip hit the back of her throat. Rick bit down on his arm, trying hard not to buck and make her gag.

He felt the vibrations of her laugh around his shaft and he whimpered. Diane moved her head up and down, gently grazing his length with her teeth. She pulled away after a minute.

"I love the sounds you make, Rick. I wanna hear them all."

Rick dropped his arm as she went back to work, wishing it wasn't so dark and he could see Diane. He knew once he flipped that switch, however, common sense would kick in. He didn't want that—he wanted to keep going.

"You feel _so good_ ," Rick breathed. "C'mere."

He tugged on her hair, guiding her upward. His lips crushed hers, and he pushed her backwards until he had her pinned against the wall. His hand slid up her shirt, fondling her breast through the lacy material of her bra. Diane moaned into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck.

One of Rick's hands dropped down and slipped into her pants and past her underwear. She jolted as his finger rubbed circles around her clitoris, drawing out a long, shuddering breath.

It had been a few years, but Rick had a vague recollection of what really got Diane going, and as they went on more things were coming to him. He squeezed her nipple and she let out a needy whimper.

"Fuck, _Rick_ ," she breathed, pressing her face to his neck.

"Y-you're so wet."

Diane snickered and admitted, "Been that way for hours. You do something to me, Rick."

"Oh, I'm about to."

Rick pushed two fingers into her slick entrance, laughing softly when her back arched into his touch. Her words were unintelligible as he began to work the digits in and out, his thumb continuing the circular motions against her clit.

"Yeah, you like that?" he breathed against her neck, pressing his lips against her skin softly.

She gasped and whimpered as Rick's fingers pumped her, hips rolling desperately. Then Rick bit down on her as he added another finger. Diane cried out.

"Rick! Rick, Rick, fuck don't stop, _please_!"

"Don't worry, Diane, I won't."

His practiced fingers easily slid in and out of her in an even pace; the noises they were pulling from her was like music to his ears. Rick's hand was soaking wet in a matter of minutes and he couldn't restrain himself any longer. He pulled his fingers out of her, causing Diane to whimper in protest. Before she could make another sound, he shoved her pants down, underwear and all. She frantically stumbled out of her clothes, then turned back to press her lips to his in another hungry kiss.

Rick reached both hands down to grip the underside of her thighs, pulling each leg up and around him. He slipped his throbbing cock into her, sliding her down so he could reach as deep as possible. His breath caught in his throat as she let out a loud, lustful groan at the intrusion.

For a moment Rick didn't move, giving Diane the chance to adjust. She bucked, begging him with a string of barely coherent words. He didn't need any more urging.

With drunken abandon he thrust into her. Diane clawed at his back wildly. Rick hissed at the pain, savoring the sting.

Rick marveled at how _hot_ and _wet_ she was, enthralled in the way she grinded her hips down to meet his rough pounding. Diane was practically screaming his name, begging for him to continue. He abided by her pleading, fucking her hard against the wall, trying and failing to hold back his own sounds of pleasure.

He sucked high up on her neck, some primal part of him wanting Diane to have a mark where anyone could see it.

Rick was close. Diane was tightening around him, panting a litany of his name like it was the only word she could remember.

His hips thrusted impossibly harder, his cock sinking as deep into her as he could. He switched his angle and suddenly Diane's back was arching again, a strangled moan getting caught in her throat. His lips moved down to capture one of her pert nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting down gently. Her slick walls clamped down hard around him, causing the rhythm of Rick's hip to falter.

"Oh _fuck_ Rick, I'm gonna—"

And then Diane's thighs were shaking with the intensity of her orgasm, nails digging into the flesh of Rick's back with enough force to draw blood. Rick cried out in unison with Diane. She was suddenly incredibly tight as her muscles clenched, and Rick felt himself teetering right on the edge.

Another, final thrust and suddenly he was cumming _hard._ His sight filled up with stars.

Rick's senses came back to him slowly. He was shaky; it was amazing he didn't drop Diane. Gingerly he pulled out and set her on her feet. She was ready to collapse, too. Together they stumbled around in the dark until Rick banged his knee on her bed. They burst into laughter and fell onto the bare mattress.

"Are you staying? Just tonight, I mean," Diane whispered softly when they calmed down.

Rick pulled her close saying, "T-too tired to move anyway."

Diane didn't say a word but instead responding by nuzzling her head against his chest, placing one soft kiss against his skin. Rick pressed his lips against the top of her hair in turn, inhaling her sweet scent. It was only a few minutes before his eyelids dropped heavily, falling asleep with Diane tangled in his arms.

* * *

 

The lasagna, forgotten on the stove, had long gone cold. Stan hadn't bothered putting it away, nor had he eaten any. He'd sat at the bar for hours now. Enough time that he had every detail memorized. He had poured over the postcard, scouring it for any clues. He had never been to Oregon. It was about time to change that.

As soon as he got his hands on Rick.

Stan hadn't felt an anger like this in a very long time. He hadn't felt so _betrayed—_ not since he was seventeen and staring up at his twin closing the curtain on him.

The hours slipped away, Stan not moving from his spot at the bar. The night soon turned into the very early hours of the morning, right before the sun was due to rise. Stan didn't say a word when a portal ripped open on a wall in the living room. Rick crept in through the swirling green circle, not noticing Stan staring daggers at him. He tiptoed through the room, heading towards the bathroom. Stan cleared his throat loudly and with purpose, causing Rick to almost jump out of his skin.

Rick slowly turned with a dumb smile plastered across his face.

"Oh, you're still awake—"

"You're late," Stan cut him off tersely.

"Yeah, sorry, things got wild. I swear I only drank, though."

"Found your jacket," Stan said, ignoring his excuse and tossing it at him. Rick barely caught it, eyes lighting up. Then he looked down at his arms, noticing that he didn't have Stan's.

"Shit, let me go back and—"

"This was in your pocket."

Stan held up the postcard and Rick went rigid.

Before Rick could respond, Stan continued harshly, "How long did you plan on hiding this from me?"

Rick stared at him dumbly, for once at a loss for words.

"You sorry son of a bitch," Stan growled, his fist crushing the postcard. "You don't even have anything to say for yourself."

Rick's brow furrowed and he snapped, "Wh-why even make a big deal out of this? Your brother fucking abandoned you."

"'A big deal'? Rick, of course this is a big fucking deal!" Stan sprung to his feet, arms gesturing wildly. "You know I've been wanting to fix things between me and Stanford. And here's this—this opportunity falling right into my lap, and what do you do? Shove it into your jacket where you hid an empty bottle of vodka!"

"I-I-I was trying to protect you, Lee," Rick shot back. "He hurt you once, who says he's not gonna hurt y-you again?"

"The only one you were trying to _protect_ was yourself, Rick. That's all you've ever cared about: _yourself._ Now I've overlooked a lot of the shitty, selfish things you've done, but this really takes the cake. This is unforgivable."

Stan threw Rick a glare, and Rick was alarmed to see thick tears pooling up in his eyes.

"Stan, I—"

"Can it, Rick! I don't want to hear your sorry excuses anymore." And before he could stop it, tears were flowing down Stan's cheeks freely and his glare turned into a look of pure hurt. His voice grew very small. "I thought I could trust you, Rick."

All Rick could do was stare at Stan, unable to find any words to defend himself. His back throbbed where Diane's nails had dug in.

Stan bit back a sob and hurried into the bedroom. Rick followed. He wasn't sure how close Stan would let him get, didn't think he'd react positively if Rick tried to touch him. His fingertips itched with the desire, though, so he shoved them into his pockets.

Upon arriving at the bedroom, Rick was alarmed to see Stan haphazardly throwing his scarce clothes and belongings into an old luggage bag. It didn't take him long to gather all of his things, and he was soon slinging the bag over his shoulder. Rick opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak Stan tried to push past him. Rick stepped in front of the doorway, blocking his path.

"Move," Stan grunted, fixing Rick with a look of pure contempt.

"Stan, come on, let's talk about th-this," Rick said, hating how much it sounded like begging. "If y-you just listen t-to—"

"No! I gave you too many chances!" Stan cut him off. "I'm done listenin' to you. Now _move._ "

Rick stood his ground, unable to control his hand as it reached out to cup the side of his face. Stan flinched away from his fingers, jerking out of his reach.

“ _Don't fucking touch me.”_

"Goddamn it, Lee, just fucking listen to me for a second! Be pissed all you want, but believe me when I say there's something fucked up going on with your twin. I've been watching him and he doesn't seem—"

"You _what ?"_

"Yeah, okay, I know how that sounds, but listen—"

"You actually tracked Stanford down and didn't tell me? While I've been cooped up here in this tiny little shithole, you've been spying on my brother? Who you _knew_ I wanted to see!"

And before Rick knew what was happening, Stan's fist collided heavily with his chin. His teeth clattered together painfully, the force of the blow sending Rick stumbling backwards. For a moment all movement ceased, Rick and Stan both struck dumb by the suddenness of the attack. Then Rick was launching himself at Stan, tackling him to the floor.

Rick had the element of surprise and his natural swiftness on his side, enabling him to get a few hits in. But then Stan got ahold of his wrists, clenching them so tight Rick worried something might break.

Stan flipped them around, slamming him against the floor and straddling Rick's waist. He glared down at him, face close enough Rick could feel his heavy breath on his skin. For a minute they simply stared at each other. It was Stan who spoke first, an icy finality to him.

"Rick, I'm _done_ . Even with everything that happened between Stanford and me, no matter whatever you saw when you spied on him, I know he'll treat me better than you have lately because _no one_ could treat me as shitty as you have."

"Stan, just let me—"

Before Rick could finish, Stan was on his feet and out the door. Rick scrambled off the ground, trying to catch Stan before he hurried through the front door. He was too late. The door slammed behind him, and it was just another moment before Rick could hear the sound of his car roaring to life. He opened the door and was able to catch one last glimpse of him in the Stanleymobile, tires squealing as he tore out of the driveway. Rick watched the headlights until they disappeared in the distance.

Rick shut the door and looked around the small, quiet shack. He went over to the bar, footsteps far too loud in the empty place. Picking up the closest bottle he took a generous gulp. Then he belched, finished the bottle, and threw it against the far wall. The shatter wasn't nearly satisfying enough so he repeated that a few more times until a little buzz in the back of his skull started up.

There was a stash of drugs under the bed. Hankering for the blissful numb of coke—or hell, anything, he wasn't picky in that moment—he went back into the bedroom. The bed itself sat low, too low for Stan to ever reach far under which was why it had been the perfect hiding spot. Rick brought out the tin and gazed at his options.

Like it was a buffet, he chose a little of everything.

His nostril was on fire, a small dribble of blood running down and pooling in his Cupid's bow; he didn't bother to wipe it away. He rubbed his sore jaw, surprised he still had all his teeth after that punch from Stan. The initial small buzz had grown exponentially, but Rick decided it wasn't enough. He dipped his finger into five different brightly colored powders and rubbed it against the back of his gums. He grimaced at the bitterness.

He sighed in relief as his face began to grow numb, the pain in his jaw becoming a faint sting. He glanced down to his wrists to see bruises already blossoming in the shape of Stan's hands. He rubbed them gingerly, glad that numbness was beginning to spread throughout his entire body.

Content for the moment, Rick set the tin aside. While going numb, he was also getting antsy. Rick glanced around as his foot bounced up and down, filling the room with an increasingly rapid _tap-tap-tap._

His eyes landed on the table across from the bed. It was vacant, and for some reason that unsettled Rick. He thought for a moment of what had been there, and when he realized what was missing a sudden chill came over him.

Stan had taken the lava lamp.

Rick stared at the space where the lamp had once stood, eyes slowly moving to the open closet that no longer held Stan's clothes. He felt a tightening in his throat, eyes beginning to sting. Before the tears even had the chance to form, Rick was rubbing his eyes harshly. He was _not_ going to cry over this.

Rick forced himself to stand up and began to rummage through his side of the closet. He found what he was looking for: the pack he kept in case of emergency, filled with enough supplies to last him a week on his own. He tucked his little tin into the bag, before stumbling into the kitchen. He set the bag down and found every last bottle of alcohol that still had anything left, drinking most of them, tossing and shattering the others all over the place.

The entire house reeked of booze, but it wasn't enough. Rick reached under the kitchen sink and pulled out a gas tank. He splashed it on the floor, the couch, anywhere he could reach.

There was a pan with cold lasagna in it just sitting on the oven and Rick poured a liberal amount over it. A pile of clothes in the bathroom got soaked. Their bed especially got a splash of gasoline.

When every last drop was strewn around the place Rick tossed the canister unceremoniously behind him and grabbed his bag. Then he took out a matchbook. One would have sufficed, but he lit all remaining three.

Dropping the lit matches to the ground, Rick aimed his portal gun at the wall. The portal and flames started simultaneously, and he didn't give the place a second look as he stepped through the swirling green tear through space. The glow of the fire disappeared behind him, and he was suddenly standing in broad daylight. A familiar house stood in front of him, neat and welcoming.

Rick took a deep breath, pride wounded. He had half the mind to turn tail and spend the night on a desolate planet, but deep down was scared of what might happen if he was left alone. Steeling himself, he forced his legs to carry him to the front door.

He rung the doorbell, and half a minute later a surprised Diane answered. Rick plastered on a grin.

"H-hey, D, miss me?"

"Rick, are you alright? You look like someone hit you."

Diane reached towards his face and he flinched away from her.

"Long story, but I'm down a business partner."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, Rick."

With a shrug he waved off, "N-not a huge loss. Mind if I come in?"

"Of course not."

She opened the door to let him in.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Diane pressed, leading him to the kitchen. "Those bruises look nasty. Let me get you some ice."

"Oh, they're just flesh wounds."

Rick tried to be nonchalant but couldn't hide the waver in his voice. Inwardly cursing himself, he coughed loudly and tried to wipe the crusted blood from under his nose. Diane gave him a concerned look, gently pressing some ice cubes wrapped in a hand towel against his jaw.

"If you say so," she responded, clearly not convinced.

"So wh-what, what are you doing today?"

Diane motioned around the them saying, "Unpacking. My mom is supposed to drop Beth off this afternoon."

Rick hummed, then fell silent. He looked away her, not liking the concern in her eyes. It made his stomach twist and he was already feeling sick. His own eyes felt wet and he rubbed them, commenting about a headache so Diane wouldn't notice the tears.

"Why don't you lie you down?"

"Good idea," Rick agreed, rising.

Diane led him to her bedroom. It was different, now that he could actually see it. At some point she had made the bed.

He sat down gingerly, suddenly feeling foolish for coming here. He was ready to spring to his feet and bolt when Diane surprised him with her words: "Rick, do you need a place to stay?"

"Wha-what? Me? Oh, no I-I-I'm fine," he spluttered, dumbfounded by her intuition. "What would give you th-that idea?"

"Well you showed up to my door with a huge backpack and a busted lip. It wasn't that hard to figure out," she replied with a half smile.

Rick laughed ruefully.

"I guess it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes. Yeah, I just need somewhere to crash for a day or so before I figure something out. Then I'll be out of your hair."

"Why not longer?" Diane asked hopefully, sitting down beside him. "Why don't you just...stay?"

Rick honestly hadn't considered that option. He paused.

"Is...is that something you want?" The softness of his voice surprised even himself. "I d-don't know if that's such a good idea."

"I thought you liked my bad ideas."

The corners of Rick's mouth pulled up into a sort of smile.

He momentarily thought of Stan screaming about chasing after his sketchy brother.

"Well, it's not th-the worst idea I've ever heard."

"So, is that a yes?"

"Why the hell not? Besides, someone needs to help you unpack."

Diane squealed in delight and threw her arms around his neck, mindful not to jostle him too much.

"Beth will be so happy. She absolutely adores you, Rick."

"I don't see why," he mumbled, more to himself.

"I do."

She gave him a gentle peck on the cheek.

"I'm going to make some lunch. Try to get some rest, okay?"

Rick handed Diane the towel, watching as she walked away. Once she was gone, he stared blankly at the wall, unsure of what to think about the turn of events.

He could hear her humming echo through the house, bouncing off the blank walls. He tried to ignore how much it reminded him of Stan and laid back on the bed. It was softer than Rick was used to, but it wasn't enough to coax him into sleep. He suspected he wouldn't be able to truly rest again for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought we wouldn't sneak in a 'honeypants' after that beautiful stream then you are a fool. -Fox 
> 
> I've been waiting to write this chapter for so long. Hope y'all enjoyed the suffering.-Lynz


	11. Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick loses his chill.

Rick tossed and turned in a bed he was not used to, unsuccessful in his search for sleep. He listened to Diane as she hummed in another part of the house. There was a knock followed by the sound of the door opening. Rick could hear Diane greeting another woman in a hushed tone, and then the familiar laughter of a little girl. He gave a small smile at the sound before grimacing at the throbbing pain gradually returning to his jaw. 

Diane thanked who Rick assumed to be her mother, before the door opened and shut again. He could hear her warning Beth to keep quiet so that Rick could get his rest, but at the mention of his name she erupted into squeals of excitement. 

"DADDY?!" she thundered, the sound of footsteps growing closer. 

And then she was bursting into the room, followed by a frazzled-looking Diane. Before Rick could respond or even sit up, Beth launched herself onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. 

"DADDY DADDY!!"

After a moment Rick put his own arms around her and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head. He couldn't help his small smile, even though it just aggravated his sore jaw.

"H-hey, sweetie, you miss me?"

"Of course! Come on, daddy, see my new room! It's so big and mama said we can put up those glowy stars on the ceiling."

The girl pulled away, grabbing Rick's hand and tugging. Diane tried to convince Beth to let him rest a bit longer, but Rick just shrugged fondly as he was led out of the room.

He followed her into the next room over, which housed a matching wooden bedroom set and a pile of boxes. Sunlight streamed through a bare window. Beth climbed on top of her bed and began to jump up and down, giggling happily. 

"Oh, Beth, get down from there," Diane protested, frowning. "You're gonna hurt yourself." 

Beth faltered, knees bent and ready for another jump. 

"Aw, l-let her have some fun," Rick said. "She's excited for about her— _ our  _ beautiful new home."

He forced a grin, wrapping an arm around Diane's waist. Her frown melted into a smile, and she leaned into him. Beth let out a shriek of laughter and continued her jumping. 

"Just keep an eye on her," Diane replied, although she still looked slightly worried.

"Better than that, I'll distract her." He left Diane's side and went over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. Instantly Beth jumped into his lap, her elbow slamming into his gut. " _ Oof _ . Okay, sweetie, daddy needs to not bleed internally."

"Why?"

"Yeah I'm not getting into a loop of that. H-hey, sweetie, do you like having daddy around?"

"Yes!"

"Great, because I was thinking of sticking around for a while."

Her eyes grew the size of saucers as she asked, voice hardly more than a breath, "Really?"

"Y-yup."

Beth let out an ear splitting squeal and once again her little arms were around him, this time squeezing his abdomen. She started going on about everything she wanted to do with him and how much fun they'd have, words a blur he could hardly keep up with.

He laughed and nodded at the right places, amazed by how many words she had learned in the week or so that had passed since he had last seen her. She droned on at a million words a minute, and Rick waited until she had to stop to take a breath to cut in: 

"Hey, sweetie, how about w-we help your mom out by unpacking your room?" he asked her. "Th-that way you can have all your toys to play with." 

"Sure daddy!" 

"Thanks for helping," Diane said gratefully. She began to make her way out of the room. "Lunch should be ready in just a minute." 

"Can't wait." 

As soon as she was out of the room Rick extracted his flask from his back pocket. Unscrewing the cap, he took a long gulp of tequila, grateful for the sting as it hit his throat. He shut it tight and shoved it back into his pocket, turning his head to see Beth staring at him with wide eyes. 

"Can I have some?"

"Sorry, sweetie, not until you're older." 

Even if she were older he didn't think he'd be likely to share; who knew when he'd get a chance to sneak out and replenish his flask, and besides, he needed all the booze he could get right then.

"But daddy, I'm already four!" She held up that number of digits and Rick felt a little bit of pride. 

Ruffling her hair Rick told her, "When you add a decade to that come see me and I'll give you a sip."

"What's a decade?"

"Ten years."

Beth's brow furrowed. "That's so long! How many decades are you, daddy?"

"Enough that I don't count anymore."

He scooped her up and went over to one of the piles of boxes off to the side. He sat her down on one that felt solid enough to hold her and opened up another. Together they started to put Beth's new bedroom together.

It was easy enough work; she didn't have too many belongings. The bedroom set itself was brand new, something Rick had bought himself when Diane had signed the lease for the new house. He would have built it all himself if he had the time or space. Besides her clothes, sparse toys and a small mountain of stuffed animals, there wasn't much to put away. 

Rick made note to himself to get her some more furniture. She would definitely need a little desk for all her coloring books. And she'd need a toy box for all of the toys he planned on getting her. Of course that wasn't even counting her first chemistry set. The list grew on. Rick tried to ignore the fact that he would need money for all of this. That would come in time.

Rick did most of the work, with Beth mostly running around and playing with some plastic horses while he cleared through the boxes. She occasionally directed him about where she wanted her things, or showed him which stuffed animals were her favorite before lovingly placing them on top of her bed. Before he knew it they were down to the last box, and Diane was calling them from the kitchen to let them know the food was ready.

Rick hadn't realized how hungry he was until the scent of chili dogs hit him. He had a vague memory of grabbing dinner with Diane the other night, but they had been too focused on drinking to really eat much. And since what had happened with Stan he hadn't put anything in his body that wouldn't fuck him up—all of which was already wearing off—so he was running on empty.

"This is fantastic, Diane. Thanks."

"Mama's hot dogs are the best!" Beth happily declared, stabbing her fork into one of the sliced pieces on Diane's plate and bringing it to her mouth. Then she let out a little burp.

"Four years, and I completely forgot to teach you manners, huh?" Diane teased, wiping chili off Beth's chin.

Rick leaned back and let out a long and loud burp that made Beth burst into giggles.

"She gets it from me."

Diane laughed, then took a bite of her hot dog. Rick took the opportunity to finish off his own food, ignoring the pain growing in his jaw with each chew. He grabbed his plate and took it to the kitchen sink, and then made a beeline for the bathroom. 

Locking himself in, Rick turned on the vent to drown out any noises he might make. He fished around in his pockets until he found a familiar glass vial, filled to the brim with the drug he had been perfecting. He poured a bump into the cap of the vial, inhaling it sharply through one nostril. He shut his eyes hard and welcomed the sting, before taking another hit. After making sure it was shut tight, he stowed the vial away and withdrew his flask in turn. He took a generous swig, alarmed by how light it was already feeling. He'd need to refill as soon as possible. 

After checking his reflection to make sure he didn't look as fucked up as he was starting to feel, Rick flushed the toilet for good measure and washed his hands. Taking one final breath to steady himself, he unlocked the door and vacated the restroom.

Beth had apparently finished her own plate and was babbling on about something that Diane was listening to, a soft smile on her face. Rick stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched them for a moment. He caught a few words:  _ daddy _ , and things like  _ dress up  _ and  _ horsies.  _

Whether it was the drugs or not, though it probably was, Rick felt like this moment was completely separate from everything else. Like the past was something different, and these two beautiful ladies were in their own state of being. His hand shook at the sudden, conflicting urges to both run away and join them. 

With a deep breath and a forced smile, Rick stepped fully into the kitchen. 

"Daddy, daddy! Can we have an ice cream party with all my stuffed animals? Except Mr. Fuzzbutt because he has that milk sick thing."

"Lactose intolerance?" Rick offered, quirking his eyebrow. "Where'd you learn about that?"

"Friend at school. And yes, we have ice cream so what do you say, daddy? Ice cream party?"

"H-hell yeah!"

Beth let out a happy exclamation and raced to go gather up her toys. Rick thought about helping, but before he could Diane spoke up.

"Oh, before I forget, you left something when you, well, when you stayed the night."

Diane reached into a door that Rick saw led into a laundry room, and pulled a familiar jacket from a hanger. His heart stopped when he registered what she was handing him. If his hands were shaking before, it was nothing compared to what they were doing now. 

Had he been able to tear his eyes away from that red jacket, the fur lining the hood, he would have seen the concern on Diane's face. Without thinking he brought the material to his face, inhaling deeply. He didn't hear when Diane called his name in a worried tone. He didn't feel the tears slide down his face of their own volition. One all-encompassing thought overtook any others, blaring like a siren over and over in his head: STAN IS GONE. YOU FUCKED UP. STAN IS GONE. YOU FUCKED UP. 

The room began to tilt around him, and Rick lost his balance, falling back against the wall. Diane cried out his name again, reaching out to try to support him. He was too heavy for her, however, and slid out of her grasp and onto the floor. Before he knew what was happening the tears were coming down harder and Rick was sobbing, unable to control himself.

He pressed his face into the jacket. So many emotions hit him, mostly guilt and regret and a pit of nausea that steadily grew. It didn't smell like Stan, and he knew Diane had washed it. Rick wasn't sure if that was a mercy or if he simply didn't  _ deserve  _ to even have a ghost of Stan around.

Rick had no idea how long he sat there like that, soaking the jacket with his pathetic weeping. Slowly he felt sensations from the outside world. Diane's fingers running through his hair, her humming that was undoubtedly meant to sooth him, her chin resting on his shoulder. 

When he had finally calmed down a bit he lifted his head. He looked away from Diane, refusing to meet her eyes.

He felt her watching as he slowly clambered to his feet, clutching the jacket close. He wiped at his face, desperate to dry the tears away. She opened her mouth to talk, but he cut her off before she could say anything. 

"I d-don't want to talk about it," he croaked. There was a beat of pained silence. "Thanks for washing, uh, my jacket."

Rick looked around, embarrassed, still trying to avoid Diane's eyes. He longed for a means of escape, suddenly craving the questionable peace of solitude. Either that or more drugs.

"I'm going to go help Beth with her ice cream party," Diane said slowly. "You can join us when you're ready, if you want."

Rick nodded in acknowledgement as he hurried back to the bathroom. He tried to keep holding the jacket while he splashed water on his face, but soon had to put it on the counter when he realized he was getting more on it than him. 

The water was crisp and cold, and like a welcome slap to the face. Not that he hadn't been struck plenty already. He deserved it though, for losing it in front of Diane. At least Beth had been in the other room, and he hoped she hadn't heard him.

He contemplated laying down in Diane's bedroom again, but it struck him that it was partially his room now, too. There was a pressure on his chest and Rick couldn't breathe. 

Frantically he brought out the vial from earlier. This time he took a generous hit. A simple bump wouldn't do the trick right now. It kicked in soon enough, and Rick felt his breathing even out just as his heart rate slowed enough that it would alarm anyone who felt it.

Rick left the bathroom and walked towards the sound of Beth's laughter. They were in the dining room, each chair at the table filled with a different stuffed animal. Diane wore a tired smile as she served each toy a tiny bit of vanilla ice cream on a plate. Beth followed after her, pretending to feed them but leading the spoon to her own mouth instead. Rick forced something that felt like a smile when Beth noticed him and pulled him towards an empty seat. 

"Here's your chair, daddy!" 

"Th-thanks, sweetie." 

Rick tried to steady his still shaking hands, hiding them under the table when he failed to do so. Diane served him his own hearty scoop of ice cream. 

"You ok?" she asked quietly, while Beth scolded Mr. Fuzzbutt for trying to steal her ice cream. 

Rick nodded, hoping his smile was convincing. He took his plate and pushed his ice cream around, unable to find his appetite. Diane didn't look like she believed him, but she didn't push the subject.

The ice cream party passed in a haze. Thankfully Beth was caught up with her toys, mostly playing with them. Eventually though she crawled into his lap. 

"Daddy, your ice cream's melting."

"Uh, yeah, daddy's pretty full, kiddo. Want the rest?"

Her eyes lit up and she eagerly took his spoon, digging in. Rick watched her shovel the cold treat into her mouth until she clutched her head and complained about brain freeze. 

"Alright, I think you've had enough," Diane told her. She came over and picked her up. "Why don't you have a nap. Daddy and I will bring your babies in a second."

"But I want to show daddy my new space princess dress!"

"Th-that sounds great, sweetie, but how about we do that after a nap?" Rick compromised. "Daddy needs one, too."

"Fine, but you have to tuck me in."

Rick let out a genuine chuckle. "You're a shrewd negotiator, kid."

Beth laughed triumphantly as Rick took her from Diane and into his arms, cradling her on his hip. He carried her into her room, Diane following behind with her arms full of stuffed animals. He set Beth down on her bed and helped her out of her shoes. Diane placed her toys around her and went to find her some pajamas. The two helped their daughter into her pjs and under the covers of her bed. Beth clutched Mr. Fuzzbutt close and snuggled under the blankets while Rick tucked them in around her. 

"Sleep well, sweetie," Rick said softly, placing a tender kiss on Beth's forehead. 

"Daddy wait!" Beth called as Rick turned to leave the room. She held out Mr. Fuzzbutt. "He wants a kiss too!" 

Rick smiled and took the toy, making a show out of giving it a big kiss. Diane giggled. 

"D-do your other toys need a kiss too?" 

Beth gave a delighted laugh. 

"No, daddy, just Mr. Fuzzbutt. Goodnight!"

"Sleep tight, sweetie."

They left, Diane switching the light off. Alone now, she gently laid a hand on Rick's shoulder. He glanced at her, but didn't let his eyes stay for long. The worry on her face just made his nausea grow.

"Rick, I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, and I respect that. Just know that, whatever it is, I'm here for you. Whatever you need from me, whatever I can do. I'm here for you."

Emotions he didn't want to dwell on washed over him, and Rick drowned them out by pressing Diane against him and claiming her lips. She melted into his touch. Rick kissed her until they were both breathless, and some of the tenseness in his chest eased.

He pulled away momentarily, but found no words to say so he kissed her again. He focused on nothing but the feeling of Diane's body pressed against him, her lips moving passionately beneath his. He didn't want to think about the life he had left behind, didn't want to think about how it was all his fault. Before he knew it they were hurrying into her— _ their _ bedroom, locking the door behind them.

* * *

 

Stan was cold. Physically. Mentally he was numb like he hadn't been in a very long time.

He could hardly believe the past few days no matter how many times he ran everything over in his mind. Especially the last few hours which were on a constant repeat.

Rick was gone. Stanford was gone. Stanley was alone.

Which, hell, wasn't that just business as usual? No one stuck around for long—he always managed to fuck things up one way or another. 

Now it was time for him to fix things.

Stan had no idea how.

" _ Fuck _ ," he whispered softly into the dark room.

Stan had given up on the lever that was supposed to power on the huge, looming portal that Ford had disappeared into. No matter how many times he tried it, nothing he did would work. He stared up into the darkened portal, feeling as if it was taunting him. 

He wished it would swallow him up the way it had done to Ford. 

Forcing that ugly thought into the back of his mind, Stan left the cavernous room and went into Ford's study. His journal lay on the desk, the golden hand emblazoned across the front glinting menacingly at Stan. The bag he had brought lay at the foot of the desk, and he could see the top of the lava lamp poking out of it. 

Stan crouched down and withdrew the lamp, trying to calm him thoughts long enough to think of something to power it on. The only thing racing through his head was the look on Rick's face as he swung his fist into his jaw. The lamp stayed dark.

He shook it, mentally pleading with the lamp to light up. When it didn't a desperation gripped his heart and threatened to squeeze until he gave in to it. 

Stan forced himself to set the lamp down. He refused to give up. He  _ would  _ rescue Ford no matter what. How long had he been traveling through strange portals, after all? Nothing to it. He just needed to figure out how Stanford's portal machine worked then bam—he'd have his brother back.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered  _ ask Rick for help _ . He told that voice to shut the hell up and started scouring his brother's journal for the umpteenth time. It had a '1' on the cover, and while it had some notes on the portal machine it seemed like even more were missing.

Stan remembered Ford mentioning that his other journals had been hidden. His heart sunk. He had no idea how many other journals there were, much less  _ where  _ they were. His task was quickly seeming impossible. Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced himself to breath steady. He needed to keep his head. Not only for himself, but for Stanford. He was counting on him.

Stan flipped to the front of the journal and began carefully reading the first page. He had a lot of work to do, and no time to waste.

He poured over the pages of his brother's work, most of it completely irrelevant. He spent hours hunched over that journal. Stan didn't stop until his back was stiff and his eyes burned, ready to fall out of their sockets. When he shut the book with a sigh he didn't feel any closer to rescuing Stanford.

Stan needed a drink. Thankfully his twin had apparently kept himself well supplied.  The majority of it was brandy, but right then he wasn't too picky. Stan fixed himself a drink and collapsed on the couch.

Stan slowly slipped his drink, grateful for the burn of the brandy as it easily slid down his throat. Part of him was aware that he needed to keep his wits about him; alcohol wasn't going to help him figure out how to get that portal going. Another, bigger part of him needed the familiar solace that was the buzz creeping in the back of his head. Soon he was finished with his first drink and lurched from the couch to make another. 

He lumbered back to the kitchen, trying not to think too hard about the mess he was in. Stan poured another large glass of brandy with shaking hands, opting to knock it back immediately instead of going back to the couch. As he fixed his third drink, he had the sudden, burning feeling that he was being watched. 

He jerked around to look out of one of the two windows in the kitchen. The glass was made opaque by the glare of light, and his own distorted reflection stared back at him. Feeling uneasy, he crept towards the window. Using his hands to shade his eyes, Stan slowly pressed his face against the glass to peer outside. He could only see little flurries of snow falling to the ground, no sign of any life. He scurried to the other window to do the same, only to find nothing.

The realization that Rick knew where this place was and had been spying on his brother struck him. Would Rick come here again, this time to spy on him? Before everything that had happened Stan wouldn't have even entertained the paranoid thought. Yet Rick had been so erratic lately, full of secrets and lies. 

Stan ran around the house making sure he was alone. He kept an ear out for the familiar sound of a portal opening, thankfully not hearing anything. Rick was smart, though, he could easily portal far away enough and make his way inside to watch Stan. Then again it was nearly a blizzard out there. Of course with the right drugs Rick wouldn't even notice the cold.

Maybe he should cover all the windows, just in case Rick was peeking in.

Stan knew he was acting as hysterical as Stanford had been before he... _ before _ . He forced himself to stop in the middle of the hallway and catch his breath. This was irrational. Even if Rick was spying on him, it wasn't like he'd hurt Stan. Physically, anyway. He'd done plenty to rip him up from the inside out. 

Stan didn't want to deal with that again. He wanted to push Rick out of his mind, out of his life. It was time to concentrate on something that  _ could  _ be fixed—the portal, and his relationship with his twin.

It then occurred to him that there were no windows in Ford's underground study. He made a mental note to find curtains or something to cover the rest of the windows, but for now he'd have to stick to the study as long as he could. Cradling a few bottles of brandy and a blanket he found on the couch, Stan made his way down to the study—making sure to lock the door behind him.

 

Rick peeked back into the living room window just in time to see Stan disappear through the door. He swore under his breath, throwing the hood of Stan's jacket over his head. He darted around the side of the house, to try to follow Stan with his eyes, but the next room over was empty. He practically ran around the perimeter of the cabin, desperate for another glimpse of Stan but saw nothing. He  _ knew  _ there was as some hidden part of the house he couldn't see. 

Rick wildly considered portaling directly into the house. What could Stan do to stop him? Nothing. Even if he left Rick could just keep following him. His heart was racing at the thought—or was that just the come down from drugs?—but deep down he knew this was crazy, even for him. 

He was stupid for coming here again, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to see Stan again. His twin was nowhere to be seen but at the moment Rick couldn't care less. Even that close call in the kitchen wasn't enough to convince him he needed to stop. 

He stuck a gloved hand into his pocket and withdrew a tiny pillbox. Inside there were five tiny capsules, sparkling and switching between bright shades of red, yellow, and blue. He took two and popped them in his mouth, crunching them between his teeth. The bitterness made him recoil, but almost instantly his racing thoughts slowed to a nice mellow trickle. 

Rick blearily looked into the seemingly empty house, and once again considered breaking in. Too much work. He thought about going home to Diane and Beth. The latter would be asleep by now. It was Diane's night off of work. She seemed like a nice distraction. Which is just what he needed.

* * *

As crazy as he knew he was acting, Rick didn't stop portaling over to that little shack in Oregon. It was so cold every time he was sure his balls would freeze off, but he just huddled further into Stan's jacket. He was drawn to the other man, and refused to simply leave him to his own devices. 

Frankly it was for Stan's own good. He always managed to get himself into trouble, and they operated better together. Rick could admit that now; they were great together.

Not to mention Rick really didn't trust this place. He didn't know where Stan's twin was, didn't know if he was poisoning Stan's state of mind or hurting him somehow. And what about whatever sneaky shit that twin was up to? He was some sort of lunatic with bleeding eyes that couldn't be trusted.

So Rick kept coming to that shack. To check up on Stan.

It was convenient to stop by whenever he went out to make money. There were plenty of dry aliens who needed the next big fix and Rick had been working on a few different concoctions of his own. Personally he was favoring drugs you could snort lately, simple and left a life affirming burn, but he dabbled in different styles. He had a girlfriend and kid to take care of, after all, he had to keep his customer base entertained.

Rick didn't focus on how serious things were getting between him and Diane. He didn't think about the fact that they shared a bed, or that she felt comfortable enough with him to use the restroom while he was brushing his teeth, or that he had met her family on several occasions. Sure, she introduced him as her boyfriend and she wore the title of his girlfriend, and they had child they were raising together, but that didn't mean things were  _ serious _ . 

Diane was just a stand-in until he could get Stan to forgive him. Then they could go back to their normal lives. He and Stan would be together; Rick would keep giving Diane money to support Beth until she was out of college. It was all so simple .

It was thoughts like this that fueled Rick and kept him going. He ignored the feelings that he was developing for Diane, and filled his head with thoughts of Stan. It wouldn't be long until he welcomed Rick back into his life with open arms, once Rick found a way to prove to him that his twin was bad news.

 

Rick's brow furrowed. His high was already wearing off. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw only fifteen minutes had passed since his last bump. No good, he needed to work on the recipe for this one a little. He wanted at least double that high.

Whipping out his flask Rick took a look around the garage that had been converted into his work area. He was slowly regaining scientific equipment he had left to burn, getting newer and better tools. On one part of the counter he had a partially-finished present for Beth. Dinky glow-in-the-dark stars weren't good enough for his little girl. He wanted an accurate map of their galaxy illuminating her room.

There was a knock at the door and Diane called out, "Babe, is it safe to come in?"

"One sec, honey!" Rick replied, quickly shoving his drugs into a drawer. "Alright, you're good."

He hunched over the device he was working on for Beth, pretending to tinker with it as Diane entered the garage. 

"Hey I'm about to head out for work," she said, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Beth is taking a nap, give her a hug for me when she wakes up." 

"Sure thing, babe." 

Diane was about to turn to leave, when she stopped, narrowing her eyes slightly. 

"Are you okay? You don't look too well," she remarked, holding her hand out to feel the side of his face. "You don't have a fever."

Rick shrugged, pulling back slightly from her hand. He flashed her a charming smile as he told her, "Just tired."

There was a look on her face that made Rick think she didn't quite believe him but all she said was, "Maybe you need to get out of here for a bit. Take a nap yourself."

"Y-yeah, not a bad idea. Now stop worrying about me and have fun at work."

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her between his legs, and he quickly kissed her before she could mother hen him more.  When they pulled apart her expression had morphed into blissfulness and Rick knew he had quieted her concerns.

After one more quick goodbye kiss, Diane was walking out through the front door. As soon as he heard her car back out of the drive at, Rick raced to the restroom to check himself out in the mirror. His skin, once a nice light brown, had turned a unhealthy grayish color. His already thin cheeks had become nearly sunken in and his eyes were so bloodshot it was no wonder Diane was worried. 

Rick swore to himself and wondered how long he had looked this bad. He sighed heavily and turned on the shower to as hot as it would go. He shed his clothes quickly and stepped in. It took too much effort to stand so he sat, letting the water fall on his back. It stung and turned his skin a bright pink where it hit. 

Rick sat there until the water ran cold, vaguely aware that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on his daughter. He eventually shut off the water and crawled out of the tub. He was too lazy to find clean clothes so he slipped back into what he was wearing before. 

He trudged down the hall to check on Beth, who was still sleeping soundly in her bed. Her room was littered with toys that had exponentially increased since they had first moved in. Rick felt himself smile. 

He made his way back to the garage and pulled out the various powders and chemicals he was working with before Diane had interrupted him. He laid out a long line of bright green powder, and dripped a clear liquid along its length. The powder fizzled and turned a shimmering orange, which Rick swiftly snorted through a metal straw. He instantly felt a surge of energy crackle through his entire body, and a trickle of blood out of his nostril.

He wiped it with the back of his hand, not noticing how badly it was shaking, and stood up. Suddenly the thought of sitting seemed like absolute torture. A grin spread across his face. Now  _ this _ was the high he was looking for.   


* * *

Now this was goddamn  _ ridiculous _ . 

Rick had waited a few days before coming back to Stan this time, thinking that maybe a little space would help Stan to realize he didn't need his brother when he had Rick. Give him time to really feel the gnawing loneliness that had to be eating at him since he'd left. Rick absolutely ignored that annoying whisper in the back of his head telling him he was projecting.

Instead of Stan coming to his senses, however, Rick found that he had boarded up every single window in the shack. The only way he'd be able to see him now was if Rick broke in.

Just then he spotted a nice, heavy rock on the ground near his foot. He scrambled for it, hefting it up and lifting it above his head. He was poised and ready to heave it at the shack, wanting nothing more than to smash through the window and jump inside to shake some sense into Stan. 

His chest heaved as he stood there, frozen, unable to follow through. The longer he stood the more his arms ached, and eventually he let it fall to the ground behind him with a heavy  _ thud. _

Fuck this. He had better things to do. If Stan wanted to keep him away so bad, so be it. Rick turned and yanked his portal gun from his pocket, angrily jabbing in some coordinates. The portal ripped apart the open space in front of him, and he stepped through. The crisp Oregon air was replaced with stuffy, artificial oxygen, trading sunlight for the flashing lights of an alien club.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will Rick hit rock bottom? Keep reading to find out!-Lynz
> 
> The alternative title is "Rick slowly loses it." -Fox


	12. Party Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick excels at fucking up and getting fucked up.

Rick slammed back a shot of some alien alcohol he had forgotten the name of. The darkly lit bar was tilting around him, and he blearily tried to remember how many drinks he’d had—to no avail. He was vaguely aware of a tall, many-limbed alien giving him the eyes from across the room, trying to catch his attention. Rick considered sauntering over to talk to them for a moment, but he decided against it; he could barely stand, let alone flirt. 

Instead Rick stumbled over to the restroom, locking himself in an empty stall. He dug around in his pocket and withdrew a tiny bottle with a clear fluid. He dripped a few drops of the liquid into each eye, blinking to help absorb. His spinning surroundings slowed to a wobble, and he was filled with a sudden surge of energy. After taking a few breaths to steel himself, he tucked the bottle back into his pocket and found his portal gun.

Rick hesitated before typing the coordinates to get home, his hand itching to take him to Gravity Falls instead. He frowned and typed in the correct address, before opening a portal on the floor beneath him.

He jumped down, landing in the front room in front of Diane. One look at her face and Rick instantly regretted his choice.

"H-hey, babe."

"Rick," she greeted curtly. Then, taking a deep breath asked, "Do you know how late you are?"

"I'm guessing very."

"Yeah, very. I should be at work right now, but I had to call in because you were supposed to watch Beth and I couldn't get anyone else last minute."

Rubbing the back of his neck Rick said, "Sorry, Diane. I got caught up, lost track of time. It's hard knowing what time it is here when I'm on an alien planet, you understand."

“You can’t use that excuse every time, Rick.”

He almost flinched at the disappointment in her voice, the look on her face. He would rather her yell or get angry, anything but that disappointment. It was too similar to the look Stan wore just before he left.

“I forgave this the first couple of times,” Diane sighed, “but this is becoming very tiresome, and it’s starting to affect my job. You _know_ I’ve been trying hard for that promotion.”

“D-Diane you don’t need to worry, I-I’ll take care of us.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying. Where’s your half of this month’s house payment?”

“I’m still working on th-that,” Rick replied quickly, flustered.

“That’s what you said last month.”

Rick opened his mouth to respond when Diane cut him off.

“Rick, look, I really don’t want to argue about money. Just please, promise me this won’t happen again. Not just for me, but for Beth.”

"Right, of course it won't. I'll look at my watch next time."

"Rick, you don't have a watch."

"I'll make one, then look at it."

Diane rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Rick grinned triumphantly. He had her in a better mood already.

"So, where is that little hell raiser?"

Diane's face fell again. "She's been sulking in her room. Apparently you promised to play gladiator with her and she was really looking forward to it. Though, judging by that name, maybe it's a good thing you weren't here to encourage that."

Rick slapped his forehead. How could he forget that? He had even made Beth her own set of body armor.

“Oh fuck, let me go talk to her.”

He cautiously walked down the hallway towards Beth’s room, making an effort not to stumble. Her door was closed, with a sign taped to the front that said “NO DADDYS ALLOWED” scribbled across in crayon. He was both disheartened by the message and proud at her incredibly early grasp of writing. She was his child, alright. He knocked gently and called out:

“Beth, sweetie, it’s d-daddy.”

No answer.

“Can I come in, honey?”

She still didn't say anything, but he heard movement on the other side of the door. 

"Sweetie, daddy didn't mean to be gone all day. We can always play tomorrow, right?"

"I don't play with jerks," Beth finally huffed.

Ouch. Rick ran a hand over his face. It was easy to see that she had his DNA, especially the old Sanchez "break my trust and you're dead to me" gene. Thankfully she was only four, and was a lot easier to win back over.

"Understandable. Well, I'm going to have a big bowl of ice cream. With chocolate syrup on top and, uh, whipped cream. I think we have whipped cream. Beth, baby, do you know if we have whipped cream?"

The door flew open and Beth stood there with one hand on her hip.

"We better, mister."

Rick smiled triumphantly, grabbing Beth to hoist her on his hip. She folded her arms and wrinkled her nose. 

“Gross, daddy, you STINK!” she exclaimed. “You smell like your special juice.”

Rick’s eyes widened and he jerked around to see if Diane heard.

“Shhh, keep your voice down. Daddy just needs to take a shower.”

Beth wriggled around and out of his arms, jumping to the floor and running into the kitchen.

“Stinky daddy, stinky daddy!” she screeched. “Give me ice cream stinky!”

"H-hey, all the ice cream there is if you keep your trap shut, sweetie," Rick promised, following her.

By some miracle there was not only whipped cream and chocolate syrup, but also a couple of bananas. He made them a large sundae to share. As they devoured it, Beth told him about all her plans for him to make things up to her. He nodded and agreed to everything, making mental calculations on how quick he could build her the 'gladiator pony' she requested.

"Tomorrow it's just you and me, Beth. Rick and Beth, all day, playing your weird violent games." Beth cheered. "Yeah, doesn't that sound great. Now, daddy's gonna go have a shower so you and your mom don't die from my stink."

Beth nodded and Rick stood up. As he started to take the bowl and spoons she stopped him.

"I can do it!" She quickly took the dirty dishes and ran over to the sink. She was far too short to reach. "Daddy, lift me."

"See, this feels like I'm still the one cleaning up," he teased, going over and helping her.

Rick held her over the sink while she tried her best to wash the dishes without soap. He couldn’t help but smile as she declared herself finished, bowls still stained with syrup. Turning to place Beth back on the floor, Rick jumped when he saw Diane watching them from the doorway, a tender grin on her face. 

“Snuck up on me there,” he laughed as Beth ran off to her room.

“Sorry about that.”

Rick turned his attention back to the dirty dishes. Before he could begin, though, Diane’s hands were brushing his aside.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” She gave him a look. “You should go take that shower.”

Rick forced a laugh. "Y-yeah, Beth was complaining. It was near a hundred degrees on Thetzen today, I was sweating nonstop."

Rick hurried past Diane, not wanting to see if she believed the obvious lie or not. Racing into the bathroom, he didn't realize he hadn't brought in anything to change into until he had already stepped under the faucet. Fuck it, he decided, he would just wrap a towel around his waist and head to the bedroom.

The water felt great. It cleared his head. Eyes closed, Rick stood under the hot water until it turned lukewarm. His muscles unclenched, his whole body relaxed. Rick felt ten times steadier than when he'd first portaled back.

Stepping out of the shower, first order of business was a quick bump. He patted himself dry as the high set in, and the world seemed amplified. For a minute it was fine. Then it started to all feel a little _too much_ , so he took a bump of something different. A few minutes later and the world dulled again.

Rick stared at his reflection without really seeing it. Diane’s words rung in his head, and he tried to ignore their earlier conversation. He could take care of them. He just needed a little more time. And his newest experiment needed a little more tweaking before he could put it on the market. 

He stood there staring listlessly into the mirror until Diane was gently knocking on the door, asking if everything was ok. 

“I’m fine,” Rick answered robotically, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He opened the door, eyes snapping to Diane, who was wearing only a robe.

“Beth should be sleeping soon. Are you coming to bed?”

Just the thing he needed to settle his mind. Rick grinned, answering Diane by snaking his arms around her waist.

* * *

One minute there was a chin on his shoulder and familiar arms wrapped around him from behind, the next Rick was suddenly alone.

He swiveled around their little home that was a glorified shed, but Stan was nowhere in sight. Rick ran into the bedroom, calling his name. The room was empty, but the lava lamp was on. He walked over to it.

The light was hypnotic. Rick wasn't sure how long he stared into its gentle glow. A strange peace had settled over him. If he listened closely he could hear Stan singing in the shower. Rick thought about joining him. He reached out towards the lamp.

Suddenly it blackened. A crack appeared on the glass, small at first, but then splintering across rest of the lamp's surface. It exploded, sending shards flying everywhere. Rick held his arms over his face, biting his lips as jagged pieces sliced at him.

The room was a thousands degrees. Rick opened the eyes he hadn't realized he'd shut. A ring of fire had appeared around the lava lamp. Rick took several steps back until he was in the doorway and called out for Stan. It occurred to him that he couldn't hear his partner anymore.

Rick ran out of the bedroom and into the shack. Outside an Oregon blizzard raged. Again he called out for Stan, and when the other man didn't answer he started shouting it. He went from room to room, tearing through the house looking for Stan. Finally all that was left was the attic.

He paused, shocked to actually find someone. It was an almost familiar figure, but when it turned around it was Stan's twin, blood seeping from eyeless sockets.

 

Thankfully, Rick woke up.

He was lying in bed, shaking and drenched in sweat. Chest heaving, he could feel his heart pounding in his throat. His legs were tangled in a sheet, which he struggled to kick off. The spot next to him was empty, and he could hear Diane in the kitchen. 

He groggily lifted himself out of bed, blinking his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the window. Head pounding, Rick stumbled down the hall and into the restroom for his normal morning ritual. After brushing the morning breath from his mouth, he took bump after bump of a sparkling silver powder he’d been working on, until his headache subsided and he felt alert and awake. His nightmare was already beginning to slip from his mind like water through cupped hands.

He went to the kitchen to see Diane, who was sitting at their dining table with a cup of coffee.

“Morning, babe,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “Leave any coffee for me?”

"You're lucky, I was just about to drink your half," Diane teased as he went over to the pot.

Rick could feel her watching him. He brushed it off and fixed himself a cup. Her eyes followed him back to the table.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, and there was concern in her voice.

"I've gotten used to your snoring," he replied, hoping to derail that topic before it had the chance to start. Rick instantly regretted the comment, however, as it made him recall the way Stan snored. He took a large gulp of coffee, not noticing the burn.

Diane reached out and put her hand on top of his unoccupied one. She looked him right in the eye and Rick couldn't turn away. 

"Rick, who's Stanley?"

The world stopped turning and Rick’s eyes widened against his will. The mug of coffee almost slipped from his grip, and he jerked his hand away from Diane’s to keep it from falling to the ground. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but found no words. A low ringing was slowly building up in his ears, growing to a dull roar. Diane was speaking but he couldn’t understand a word. Then he heard his own voice pierce through the fog, quivering and stuttering worse than ever before:

“I-I-I d-don’t know wh-what y-you’re talking about.”

“Rick.” Diane’s voice was soft, concerned. He hated the way it sounded, like she was pitying him. “You can talk to me. That jacket you left here...was it Stanley’s?”

He set the mug down, keeping a tight grip on the handle, and finally looked away from her. For a long moment he didn't reply. The kitchen was filled with an overbearing silence. As it grew and grew, so did the pounding in his head.

"H-how do you know that name?"

"You've been talking in your sleep, calling out for some 'Stanley.' I was afraid of bringing it up at first, because I didn't want to upset you, Rick, but almost every night you're tossing and turning, saying this name." Diane put a hand on his knee. "You've been having bad nightmares, haven't you?" 

Rick looked away from her.

“I d-don’t remember my dreams.”

Another painful stretch of silence.

“So...are you going to tell me who he is?” Diane pressed. Rick glanced back up at her, and instantly wanted to look away again, but was unable to tear his eyes away from her worried gaze. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Rick, I just want to understand what’s going on. I want to help.”

"The past is in the past, Diane. It doesn't matter now."

"It's not just 'in the past' when you're having nightmares nearly every night. And don't try to deny it, Rick. Whatever happened obviously is still affecting you, meaning it _does_ matter. Please, Rick, talk to me." When he didn't say anything Diane guessed, "Were you and Stanley dating?"

Rick's breath hitched. He downed the rest of his coffee just to delay the inevitable.   
  
Diane scooted closer and moved her hand up to his shoulder. Rick's head spun. Every time she said Stan's name it was like she was stabbing him in the chest, and he could only be stabbed so many times.

"I don't want to talk about it," he told her curtly, slamming the mug down far harder than he had intended. It startled her and the overwhelming awfulness he was feeling intensified. "Th-there's nothing _to_ talk about, okay Diane?"

"Rick..." She sighed, then pressed her lips to his temple. "I don't want to push you. I mean it when I say I'm here for you, though, alright? I love you, Rick."

Rick closed his eyes as she kissed him, before they shot open wide again at her tender words. 

“I...I love you, too, Diane,” he replied after a pause, voice wavering. He wanted to say so much more, at least apologize for raising his voice, but he said nothing else.

Instead he kissed her hard and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around him, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. He pulled away when his lungs protested for air, but continued holding Diane in his arms. He buried his face in her hair, the sweet scent grounding him.

“Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” she said softly after a moment. She gently placed her lips on his neck before pulling away. “I have to get Beth ready for school.”

Rick washed his mug while Diane helped Beth. It wasn't long before the little girl came running into the kitchen to latch onto his leg. He swept her up, blew a raspberry against her cheek, then handed her off to Diane. They shared a quick kiss and he followed them to the door, waving until they were down the street. Rick shut the door and then he fell to the floor, chest tightening. 

Everything was getting away from him. He was getting too attached to the girls, and Diane knew too much. That wasn't good. Knowing him too much led to hating him, and he couldn't deal with something like that again. Not after Stan.

Stan, who he should be focusing on.

Rick took a deep breath. Then another, until his hands stopped shaking so hard. He pushed himself up and headed to the garage. He started with a bottle of whiskey while he whipped up a batch of pills he'd been working on. Rick also took a small bump of coke, just to even him out. Then another bump for good measure.

Wiping blood off his upper lip, Rick popped the pill in his mouth and washed it down with whiskey. It tasted a little like an old root beer candy that had fallen out of its wrapper and between couch cushions. It hit him like a sledgehammer.

The next thing Rick knew he was stepping through a portal.

The fluorescent lights of the garage were replaced by sunlight, and Rick was standing on the very edge of a thick forest. The Oregon air was cold and clear; the shack stood a few hundred yards away. Rick began to stumble towards it. 

As he neared it he noticed a sign across the roof reading _The Murder Hut._ It hadn’t been there the last time he’d stopped by Gravity Falls. There was a small line of people waiting to get in, chatting excitedly.

Rick’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Stan walk through the door and welcome a group of people into the shack. Not wanting to be seen, Rick ducked behind the thick trunk of an evergreen. He took another swig from the bottle of whiskey that was still clutched beneath his fingers, peeking out to try to get another glimpse of Stan. He had already gone back inside. Rick turned back and drained what was left of the bottle.

His thoughts were muddled as he considered his options. As much as knew it was a bad idea, he needed to see Stan again. If he could just _talk_ to him, he could win him back. That’s it, he just needed the opportunity to talk to him. And Stan was letting just anyone into the shack, how could he say no to Rick? He let the bottle fall heavily to the ground with a _thud._

Rick was tired of wasting time. It was now or never. He left his spot from behind the tree and headed directly for the shack.

It wasn't that he was a coward, it was just that there were so many people, so Rick naturally went in the back way. He was taken aback, and for a second wondered if he had blacked out briefly and portaled somewhere else. He was in a gift shop.

It was a little under furnished, and filled with kitschy trinkets like snow globes and postcards. Rick picked up a keychain curiously. It was a black question mark.

As he looked around the shop, Rick couldn't help chuckling to himself. Stan was running some kind of business—some kind of _scam._ He was proud of Stan's resourcefulness.

The sound of voices, specifically Stan's voice, interrupted his investigation. Rick looked around for somewhere to hide. There was a door with an 'employees only' sign, and he quickly darted behind it. A moment later the gift shop was filled with people, and he heard Stan right on the other side of the door. Rick held his breath until he walked off.

Rick was almost ready to leave the closet and find Stan, when he noticed he wasn’t really in a closet after all. He was standing dangerously close to the edge of a steep stairwell that led downward. Rick’s eyes lit up, and he knew he had found wherever Stan and his twin had been disappearing to. Licking his lips, he reached to feel the the walls for a light switch. He swore under his breath when he found none. 

Cautiously reaching his foot out, he found the first step. Before he could take another, however, there was the sound of a voice. The door suddenly swung open before Rick could react, reflexes deadened by the drugs and alcohol. Stan was calling over his shoulder, something about some fanny packs he had in storage. He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Rick. Stan stopped dead in his tracks, jaw dropping open. Rick cleared his throat and hastily drew his foot back.

“Uh, h-hey there, Lee. Long time, no see.”

Stan snapped out of his shock and stepped into the narrow space, shutting the door behind him. Stan was tantalizingly close. Rick's fingers itched to touch him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, knowing that wouldn't be wise.

A light appeared from nowhere, and he saw that Stan had lit an oil lamp. He held it up to Rick's face. Rick squinted, but didn't make a move.

"Rick, what. The. _Fuck.”_

"I don't even get a hello?"

"What you're gonna get is a fucking fist in your face," Stan snapped. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Here in general, or specifically this room?"

“God, do you always have to be such a smart ass?” he hissed after a beat. “You got five seconds to get the fuck outta here or I’ll _remove_ you.” 

Stan’s free hand clenched into a fist, and Rick backed up against the wall behind him, raising his hands up to defend himself if he had to.

“C’mon, Lee—”

“Stop calling me that. My name is Stan.”

“Yeah, Stan _-lee._ ”

“Wouldya cut that out?”

Stan fixed him with a murderous glare and Rick gulped.

“Ok, fine, _Stan._ Would you just give me a chance to talk?”

Through ground teeth Stan relented. "Fine. We'll talk. But not here and not now. I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"Love the gift shop. It's really got that 'middle of nowhere money grab' vibe."

 _" Rick,_ for once let me finish. There's a diner in town. I'll meet you there after I close. Then you can say whatever you want to say. Deal?"

Rick nodded, ecstatic he was getting this much. He whipped out the portal gun and flashed Stan a grin.

"It's a date."

"No, it's not."

Rick was gone in a flash of green before Stan finished speaking. He came out at the edge of the forest closer to town, where no one would spot him. He strolled leisurely around Gravity Falls, looking for the diner and thinking of what he was going to say.

Rick came across a liquor store, an involuntary grin stretching across his face. He quietly stepped in, grabbing any bottles that caught his eyes from the shelves. Once heavily laden, he opened up a portal on the floor and escaped with his booze.

He was back in the forest, sitting down and resting his back beneath a huge tree. Rick figured he had ample time to kill before Stan was available to talk. He unscrewed a bottle of tequila and brought it to his lips, wishing he had a lime to bite into.

Rick sang and laughed to himself as he killed bottle after bottle, a weird mix of high spirits at his luck with Stan and anxiety for the talk to come. He just needed some liquid courage to keep him going, get him talking.

Finally, the sun was beginning to set an Rick thought Stan might be closing up soon. Using the tree for balance, he hoisted himself off the ground and wandered back into town. Gravity Falls was a tiny place, and it wasn’t hard to find the only diner it offered.

Rick attracted a lot of attention as he lumbered into the diner, wild-eyed and reeking of booze. He slid into a booth, glaring daggers at the townsfolk who were staring at him unabashedly.

A waitress came over, voice too loud as she asked, “What’ll you have, stranger?”

“Coffee and pie.”

“What kind? All I’ve got baked right now is apple and cherry, but if you’re willing to wait—“

“Cherry. The whole pie.”

“Well you sure are hungry, stranger,” she chirped, jotting his order down. “Someone coming to help you with that whole pie?”

Rick brightened. “Yu- _urp-_ up. If you see a good looking brunette with a silly hat send him my way.”

“Oh! Are you a friend of Mr. Mystery? You’re right about that good looking part.” She fanned herself with the notepad, non-shut eye glazing over in daydream. When she knocked herself out of it she said, “One coffee and whole pie coming right up!”

The lights of the diner stung his sensitive optics. Rick closed his eyes and leaned back in the booth. He was almost beginning to doze off when he heard his name.

His eyes snapped open, and he saw Stan, wearing a stony expression as he walked towards him. He warily slid into the opposite side of the booth, hands shoved into his pockets. 

They simply stared at each other for a while, sitting in silence, waiting for the other to speak first. Rick blinked blearily, face numb. He was just about ready to talk when the waitress returned with a steaming cup of coffee and a whole pie.

“Here ya go, one cherry pie and a fresh cup of coffee.” She set them down on the table. “Hello there, _Stanford._ You want your usual?”

“I’m fine, Susan,” Stan declined. “I’ll just take a coffee.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Mystery.”

She winked slowly at Stan before flouncing off. Rick cocked an eyebrow.

“‘Stanford?’” he asked.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Stan replied tersely. “What do you want?"

“Easy, you.” He was momentarily hurt by the way Stan cringed, but didn’t let that deter him. “L-listen, I know things got crazy—hey! That’s part of the fun, right? Getting fucked up together, fucking shit up together.”

“You’re fucked up right now.” A statement, not a question.

“Is this where you want to be, L— _Stan?_ In bumfuck nowhere, Oregon?” He took the portal gun halfway out of his jacket. “Hell no! Not when the whole fucking galaxy is ours!”

Stan sighed, anger dissipating into exhaustion. His shoulders sagged like someone was pressing down on them and wouldn’t let up.

“Rick, like I told you before I’m in the middle of something here, okay? Can’t just up and leave, even if I wanted to.”

“Don’t you want to?” Rick hated how small he sounded.

“Not with you,” Stan admitted, looking away. The words hurt more than his fist had the day he left. “Rick, I don’t think you even understand what you did.”

“What, t-tried to protect you from who someone hurt you before and could hurt you again? I-I was just looking out for you, looking out for _us.”_

“Rick, do you seriously think this was just about the goddamn postcard?” Stan gave him a look of complete disbelief. He took a deep breath, before fixing Rick with a hard glare, and continued in a low voice: “Rick. You lied to me. I put so much trust in you, and you took advantage of it. God knows what else you lied about besides the postcard. And you still can’t even admit that you were wrong for it all.

“And now, my brother is in deep trouble. Who knows, maybe if I would have gotten here earlier I could have saved him before....” Stan’s voice trailed off and he looked like he was going to be sick.

Rick wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort Stan, but knew it wouldn’t go over well, so he stuck his hands deep into his pockets instead.

“Fine, d-do you want me to apologize?” Rick asked, trying and failing to not sound sarcastic. “I’m sorry. Th-there. I said sorry. Now can’t we just get past all this?”

“One hell of an apology.”

“Stan, can’t you see I’m trying?!” Rick finally exploded. The entire diner fell silent, all eyes drawn to them. Rick lowered his voice. “You-you’re not exactly making this easy.”

" _Easy?_ Oh, but I sure made it easy for you to run off," Stan hissed. 

"Uh, you're the one who packed his bags and left me."

"Goddamn it, Rick." Stanley slammed his fist on the table, apparently no longer caring about drawing the other patrons' attention. There was a fury on his face that made Rick recoil. "I mean before that. You left me day in and day out in that tiny fucking place with no idea when you'd get back, or even if you'd _be_ back. All alone, all goddamn day, worrying you'd either wind up dead or you'd run off for something better than me. Do you have any idea what that felt like? I'm not some fucking pet you can come back to whenever you're bored!"

Rick flinched. He cleared his throat while Stanley glared at him, fuming.

"I wasn't keeping y-y-you like a pet, Stan. I just needed to keep you away from...what I was doing."

Stan sat back and laughed. It was a bitter sound.

"The drugs? The booze? News flash, Rick, you ain't as slick as you think. I know you wanted me to think that your promises actually mean something."

“Didn’t y-y-you think there was a _reason_ for all the drugs and shit?” Rick shot back. “Y-you ever stop and think about that?”

Stan’s anger melted away into something worse: self-loathing. His eyes moved to the floor, body sagging again.

“I always assumed it was me,” he finally said after a moment.

“The world doesn’t always revolve around you, Stan.” Rick stabbed angrily at his pie with a fork, not actually taking a bite.

“Is this all you wanted to talk to me for? To remind me how I’m always wrong?”

“Lee—”

_“Stan.”_

“Ugh, _Stan,_ it wasn’t your fault, alright? Now quit th-thinking it was. If anything it was all mine.”

The surprise was evident on Stan's face. Rick looked back down at the pie, itching under the other man's curious gaze. 

When he didn't say anything else Stan prompted softly, "What _was_ the reason, Rick?"

"I knocked someone up."

Rick put the fork down. He gazed steadfastly at the cherry filling oozing out, unable to bring himself to see whatever was on Stan's face at his confession.

Silence stretched between them. There were low murmurs around the diner, and it felt like they were all eavesdropping, but Rick couldn't be sure if he wasn't just on edge.\"Rick?" Stan finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. Rick's head snapped up. "That night when you came home with lipstick on your face..."

"That was from Diane."

His face was as blank as stone. Stan was the one staring at the pie now.

"So all that time I was at home waiting for you, _worrying_ about you, you were busy getting some chick pregnant."

"No! Just listen. I met Diane right before you, it was just one night stand—well, it was _supposed_ to be. I didn't know anything about Beth—my daughter—until later. She tracked me down ah-ah-and I was just helping them out. You know, taking responsibility for my actions. You should be proud."

The fury was back on Stan's face tenfold.

 _“Proud?”_ Rick was alarmed to see that he was shaking. “Proud of what? The fact that you had a fucking child and kept it hidden or that you were basically _cheating_ on me?” 

“Stan, no, th-that’s not what—”

“That’s sure what it sounds like, Rick. What, you didn’t want me around your kid? Am I not good enough for you and _Diane?”_

Rick flinched.

“Stan, I-I-I already told you, this had nothing to do with you,” Rick tried to reassure him, but his efforts were futile.

Stan was already on his feet and halfway to the door. Rick sprang up and ran after him, desperately calling out his name. The waitress whined after them about the bill but they both ignored her. Rick followed Stan out to the street, reaching out to grab him by the arm.

“Stan if y-you would just let me explain myself—”

“No, Rick, I’ve had enough!” Stan snarled, jerking his arm away. “I don’t wanna hear another word from you. And if you knew what was good for you you’d stay away from me and stay out of Gravity Falls!”

And with that Stan huffed away, leaving Rick alone in the middle of the road. He didn’t even consider following him. Rick watched as his figure became a small silhouette in the distance. There was a time when he would have been relentless, when he would have forced Stan to hear him out. Now he just didn’t have the energy. He felt hollow, like a dry empty husk of his former self.

Each breath fogged up in the cold Oregon air, and Rick didn’t move until the watch on his wrist began to beep an alarm. He let it ring a moment before turning it off and taking out his portal gun.

He entered in the coordinates from home and shot off his gun, opening a portal in mid-air. He stepped through into his garage. Diane popped her head in, a smile of relief spreading across her face. 

“You made it! I thought you were going to forget.” She walked over to give Rick a quick peck on the cheek, when a look of concern crossed her face. “Is everything alright? You look pale.”

"Ate some pie that didn't agree with me," Rick replied quickly, wanting to put the conversation with Stan out of his mind. 

"Are you sure you can look after Beth, then? If you think you have food poisoning—"

"No worries," he waved off, plastering on a smile. "Where's my baby girl?"

“She’s in her room drawing. There’s stuff for sandwiches if you all get hungry. I’m running late, gotta go!” 

Diane swooped in for a goodbye hug and a kiss, before hurrying out of the house. Rick waved as she left, watching as her car turned the corner.  His arm fell heavily to his side as she disappeared from sight, his expression turning stony. He fished his flask from his back pocket and chugged it dry.

Belching loudly, he went back to his garage and tossed the empty flask onto his workbench. He could hear Beth laughing from her room and decided she sounded entertained enough.

Rick pulled a heavy trunk from under the bench. His fingerprints opened up a padlock of his own invention, revealing a fully stocked bar hidden within the trunk. Instead of fixing a drink he grabbed a bottle at random, unscrewing the top and taking a long drink.

The burn wasn't good enough. He needed something _more._ He abandoned that bottle for something more top shelf. Rick was on the right track, but after the fucking day he had it didn't come close to filling the emptiness that had taken root inside of him.

He took out his drug stash. Supplies had been fast dwindling and he made a note to replenish as soon as Diane came home and the girls were safely tucked in bed. And, since he'd restock soon, why not treat himself to everything that was left?

"Daddy! Where are you?"

"H-hold on, sweetie!"

Rick quickly tucked the drugs into his jacket and returned the alcohol trunk under his bench. He couldn't risk indulging in the garage, not with a precarious toddler around. He stepped into the house, shutting the door firmly behind him. Beth looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Hey, Beth," Rick greeted shakily, and he cursed himself silently for acting like she had caught him red handed. "What're you up to?"

"Drawing us taking over a mean alien's kingdom and making him work in the mine until he's old and wrinkly," she answered innocently, holding up the drawing.

"More 'Space Princess Adventures', huh?"

"Mhm! Come draw with me!"

She tugged at his jacket, and he could feel the stash jostling. He gently guided her hand away.

"In a minute, sweetie. Daddy needs to go to the bathroom. Wh-why don't you start without me?"

Beth wrinkled her nose. 

“You’re always pooping daddy. Hurry up!!”

She ran to her room, hair bouncing. After peeking to make sure she was nice and distracted, Rick dashed into the restroom, clicking the lock into place. He retrieved his stash from the inside pocket of his jacket, trying to decide what to do first. He opted for some good ol’ coke, laying out a fat line on the back of their toilet seat cover.

After snorting the line he wiped up any remaining powder with his fingertip and rubbed it against the back of his gums, relishing in the numbness it brought. He instantly perked up, but it wasn’t enough. Rick took a few multicolored pills and easily crushed them into a fine powder, sniffing those down as well. A thick trail of blood leaked out his nose, dripping to the floor.

The flurry of emotions he had felt since talking to Stan dulled until it was like a distant dream. For all he knew, maybe it was a dream. All of this was just some terrible nightmare and he’d wake up any moment now. He dry-swallowed a handful of bright yellow capsules, grimacing as they scraped down his throat. The painful swallow was enough to remind him that this was no nightmare.

Tears threatened to fall from his eyes and he rubbed them away furiously.

He was _not_ going to cry over some stupid asshole who refused to give him the benefit of the fucking doubt. What did he even need Stan for? Diane was amazing, and Beth was precious, if a little bloodthirsty. Proof she was a Sanchez, through and through.

Rick smiled to himself, pulling out some multicolored powders. His eyes were a little glazed and he blinked a few times until he could see well enough to cut a few more lines. Small ones, just the width of his pinkie and the length of his palm. Couple more lines, then playtime with his little space princess.

When Rick went to cover one nostril he realized how much blood was there. He wiped it away absentmindedly. As much as he hated to admit it he was still thinking about Stan. Or maybe Diane? His thoughts were starting to all muddle together and he couldn't separate the two any more.

Rick tilted to the side. He reached out to steady himself, but only ended up banging his hand against the toilet seat and scattering his lines.

Before he knew it he was on his back, squinting against the overhead light. It was so bright it might as well have been the sun.

Rick had enough sense to realize this was not good, before there was nothing but darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Lava You Lots', where you get to read fun stanchez adventures like Rick having a terrible nightmare where his ex's twin is bleeding from eyeless sockets. -Fox
> 
> Can we just give Fox a round of applause for that nightmare scene? -Lynz


	13. Denial, or Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: You have a problem—
> 
> Rick:Yeah this fucking lamp—
> 
> Everyone: No with drugs and booze.
> 
> Rick: No, I'm pretty stocked
> 
> Everyone: _Goddamn it_ Rick.

When Diane got home, the first thing she noticed was Beth playing by herself in front of the tv. The second thing she noticed was Rick's absence.

"It's past your bed time, baby girl. Where's daddy?"

"Mama!"

Beth ran over, hugging her legs. It took her a second to make sense of her hyperactive toddler chatter, but when she did her brow knitted in concern.

"Slow down, sweetie. How long has daddy been in the bathroom?"

"Forever! We were suppose to play but he had to potty and he never came out."

Diane's eyes widened. She forced herself to remain calm as she knelt down to Beth's level.

"Sweetheart, I need you to go wait in your room while I check on daddy, okay?"

Thankfully she didn't put up a fuss and as soon as she was safely in her room Diane hurried to the bathroom. She knocked on the door and called out for Rick but there was no answer. She couldn't even hear any movement on the other side of the door. She tried the knob but it was locked.

Panic began to set in and she rattled the doorknob, banging even harder with her fist.

“Rick? Hello? Are you ok?” Diane called through the door, desperate for an answer, a sound, anything. All she got was silence.

Now thoroughly alarmed, she dashed to the kitchen, furiously scouring the drawers for a key. Her search was fruitless.

Undeterred, Diane found her purse and fished for her wallet, producing a credit card. She took it and slid it between the door and the frame, right next to the doorknob. She jiggled the card and pressed her weight against the door, pulling the card as far back towards the knob as she could. Suddenly the door popped open and she toppled into the bathroom.

The relief of getting the door open was cut short when Diane saw Rick sprawled out on the floor, unconscious.

_“Rick!”_

She let out a small gasp and dropped to his side, trying to shake him awake. Drool was dribbling from his lip, and crusted blood stained from under his nose all the way down to his neck. He didn’t respond to her frantic shaking or the sound of Diane crying his name. On the verge of tears, she strained to pull him up onto her lap, as close to the bathtub as she could get him. She turned the faucet on, trying to splash water on his face. All she managed to do was soak his shirt.

“Rick, _please.”_

Diane knew she needed to call an ambulance. He must have had a stroke or hit his head, or—

As her eyes darted around the room for anything that could help or explain what had happened, she saw powder on the toilet lid. Things started clicking into place.

"Oh, _goddamn it,_ Rick, don't do this to me."

She put her head to his chest and hand up to his nose. He was breathing and his heart was still working, if faintly. Diane thought back to a friend she'd had years ago who passed out from coke and had woken up only when someone had pinched her hard.

Diane pinched his arm. Rick twitched. Not having time for results like this she reeled back and slapped him across the face. That made him bolt up.

Rick’s head turned from side to side as he looked around with wide eyes, bewildered.

“Wh-where am I?” he croaked in a shaking voice. His eyes fell on Diane and a look of realization slowly crept on his face. “D-Diane? Wh-what time is it?”

“Rick, what in the actual _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Diane hissed in a low voice. She closed her eyes and took a deep, measured breath, before snapping them open again to glare at Rick. “You know what, we’re going to talk about this later. We need to get you to a hospital.”

Rick immediately scooted away from her, backing up against the toilet.

“I-I’m fine,” Rick protested, voice still wavering. His hands were shaking violently to match. “I-I-I just, uh, slipped when I got out of the shower.”

"You _slipped—”_ Diane stopped herself. Trying to reign in her growing rage she pointed at the conspicuous powder. Rick glanced at it, face growing even paler than it had been. "Don't even try to play this off, Rick. You were doing drugs when you were supposed to be looking after our daughter. Our four year old daughter who for hours now has basically been by herself."

"Okay, I admit this looks bad."

"Stop talking, Rick. I won't call an ambulance, but you're getting in my car, and we are going to take you to the hospital."

"H-hey, I'm awake, I'm alert. I'm good. See?" He waved his arms around. She didn't miss how he was trying hard not to pant.

She stared at him, long and hard.

“You’re unbelievable,” she finally said after an uncomfortable silence. “I’ve been ignoring the obvious signs for months now, but _this?_ This is unforgivable.”

Rick couldn’t ignore the fact that her words were almost identical to Stan’s, right before he left. He braced himself for the inevitable.

“Rick, I need you to leave.”

“Diane—“

“No. I don’t want to hear it. _Go.”_

Her tone had an icy finality to it, and he didn’t want to bother arguing. He didn’t have the strength for it. Rick struggled to his feet, and stumbled out of the restroom, down the hall and into the garage. He heard Beth call out for him, before being shushed by Diane. He slammed the door shut.

Rick leaned against the door, chest heaving. His eyes darted around the room, finally landing on Stan’s jacket slung across the back of a chair. He walked over to it and slipped it on. Rick then pulled his bar-in-a-trunk from under the workbench, ladening his arms with as many bottles as he could carry.

He grabbed his portal gun, fingers automatically jabbing in some all-too familiar coordinates. The green portal ripped open in the wall, illuminating the room. He stepped through, the garage disappearing behind him. A shiver ran up his spine as the frigid Oregon air hit him.

He felt woozy, nauseous, and not at all fucked up enough to deal with anything. Rick was starting to think that maybe he couldn't reach that magical level anymore. That was a type of defeatism he couldn't get behind, though, not when he hadn't applied the scientific method to it yet.

Step one, see what happened when he finished off a fourth of a vodka bottle in the middle of the woods. His vision stabilized, eyes no longer throbbing when he had them open for too long.

Step two, whiskey. Already he was starting to feel better. Not just physically. Rick let out a sharp laugh that startled an owl.

Step three, just start downing whatever was left. It filled him with a hot confidence. Diane needed him more than he needed her. Wasn't she the one who had tracked him down to begin with? Besides, Rick needed to keep his eye on the prize—Stanley. Stan _ford._ Whatever.

Conclusion, with enough booze anything is possible. And tonight he was determined to achieve the impossible: Rick was going to win back Stan.

Rick stumbled through the edge of the thick forest, ignoring the creeping feeling that he was being watched. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, hardly feeling the howling wind that was blowing through him. He miraculously made it through unscathed, the Murder Hut coming into his view.

Taking a swig from his last bottle, a top shelf rum, he lurched towards the cabin. Soon he was at the door, hand hovering inches away from the wood. Rick swayed in place, angry at his own apprehension. With a deep breath he chugged was was left of the rum, and tossed the bottle behind him.

Rick knocked on the door, too hard and fast in his nervousness.

There was no answer. Rick kept knocking, just growing frustrated when it continued going ignored. He whipped out his portal gun with a flourish and shot one off. He stepped through it into the inside of the shack.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get past a lock when you're a fucking genius."

Rick bowed to his imaginary audience then looked around. The place was dark and silent.

It dawned on him how late it was in Gravity Falls. Figuring Stan must be asleep somewhere he scoured the shack for a bedroom. Images of nightmares past crept into his mind unbidden. He was able to ignore them, however. Until he realized Stan wasn't there.

Rick tore through the house, tongue too heavy in his mouth to call out. He avoided the attic.

Suddenly he remembered the strange stairwell he'd found that Stan had seemed pretty insistent on keeping him away from. He hurried to the gift shop. It was an impenetrable void.

Rick rummaged around the shop, eventually finding a working flashlight in the cashier desk. Then he made his way down the stairs.

Once reaching the bottom, Rick found himself in a long basement, walls lined with various machinery and equipment. In the back there was a window and an open door leading to another room. Light streamed through and illuminated a desk under the window. He slowly crept towards the door, blinking his eyes blearily.

As he approached the door, he caught a better view of the cavernous room on the other side. A huge triangular machine loomed at the far end, a dark, empty circle cut out of the center. There were strange symbols carved around the circle, and Rick thought they looked vaguely familiar.

He was so distracted by the strange contraption, he didn’t notice Stan until he heard a loud sob. He was hunched before the machine, on his knees and crying so hard his entire body shook. If he heard Rick come in, he gave no sign of acknowledgement.

Rick took another step towards him, desperate to provide comfort. He reached his hand out as if to touch him, before withdrawing. His feet began to move backwards.

He didn't want to be rejected again, he'd had so much of it already. If Stan rejected his comfort in a moment like this Rick wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle it.

So instead Rick looked around the bizarre basement. His secrets seemed small in comparison to whatever the hell was going on down here. A surge of resentment towards Stanford, the _real_ Stanford, hit him. His fingers itched, craving to grab the bastard who had taken Stan from him. _Lee._

Rick's eyes fell on the lava lamp.

It sat on the desk, completely dark. The lamp glared back at him mockingly. Rick's eyes narrowed. Resentment turned to outright loathing, all directed at that stupid lamp.

Stanford might have been the last tug to pull Stan away from him, but what had driven the wedge between them, pushing Stan too far away to pull back? That fucking lamp Stan had wanted so bad.

He had been obsessed with it. Rick thought back on how his eyes always lit up when the lamp did. How he insisted it was powered by love. _Their_ love. With it dark like this, obviously just malfunctioning, it had insidiously tricked Stan into believing their relationship couldn't be fixed.

But he was Rick god-fucking-damned Sanchez and he could fix _anything._

He traded flashlight for the lamp. Rick briefly considered going back upstairs to portal his way out. Deciding he didn’t care if Stan heard him, he shot off a portal right there, the strange basement vanishing from sight as he stepped through.

Rick was suddenly surrounded by alien creatures, dancing to loud music under flashing lights. Rick forced his way through the crowd towards the bar, waving down the bartender. A gelatinous creature with one eye slid towards him, wide mouth breaking into a smile. 

“Rick! Good to see ya again, you want the usual?” they asked in a high-pitched voice, a long thin appendage already reaching for a glass. 

“Make it a d-double,” Rick replied, leaning against the bar. “Is Teely here?” 

“Oh yeah, he’s in the back room. You can go ahead, I’ll have your drink brought out to ya.” 

“You-you’re the best bartender in the galaxy, Schlemflop.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” they called out as Rick walked around the bar and through a doorway around the side. 

Rick cradled the lava lamp carefully as he slinked through a dark hallway. Upon reaching a closed door, he knocked three times. After a moment the door opened, revealing a dimly lit room filled with hazy smoke. 

“Rick Sanchez!” a singsong voice rang out. 

Teely was lounging on a glamorous velvet couch, and spread his three pairs of arms wide at the sight of Rick. He was surrounded by his usual crew of beefy, burly aliens, passing around an intricate glass pipe. 

“My favorite human! What can I do you for?”

Rick couldn't help the grin suddenly plastered across his face. Still cradling the lamp with one arm he held out the other high in greeting.

"Teely! The perfect guy t-to fix my night."

Rick was already approaching the alien before Teely even motioned him over. He plopped down beside him, propping his long legs up on the expensive looking glass table. One of Teely's companions glared at Rick's intrusion, but wisely didn't put up any fuss; Teely was in charge of them, and he wanted Rick there.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Sanchez?" Teely asked good-naturedly as he handed over the pipe.

Rick took a generous hit, and in turn it hit him in just seconds. After a hearty cough he took another quick puff at Teely's insistence.

"Nothing I can't get myself out of. Just need to put myself in the right mindset."

“Just name whatever it is you need, and I’ll make it happen.” 

“I-I-I just need a place to stay while I work on fixing this thing,” Rick responded, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just a couple of nights, shouldn’t take me t-too long.” 

“Consider it done,” Teely boomed. “You stay as long as you need. On one condition.” 

“And that is?” 

“Tonight, we party until you can party no more.” 

Rick’s face split into a wide smile, taking the pipe again as it was handed to him. He took a hard hit, releasing the smoke through his nostrils. 

“I-I thought that was a given.”

Rick had already forgotten the state Diane had found him in. He and Teely, and his assortment of alien companions, smoked and drank—and snorted and swallowed pills—until they passed out. Of course they were the last two standing. Or, rather, sinking into the plush couch.

The party lasted more than a single night. It lasted at least a few days. The exact time escaped Rick; that would happen when you were more blacked out than not.

Rick slept for a good long while. When he woke up he was in a haze he couldn't shake off until he joined one of Teely's entourage in a back room that had an indoor hot tub. Then one of that alien's friends joined them and Rick really relaxed. For several hours. Whether from the drugs he'd been indulging or pent up emotions he didn't want to focus on, Rick's stamina was through the roof.

When he was sated he finally focused on the lava lamp. It was dark and still. Rick stared into the glass smudged with fingerprints and dirt. This little fucker was going to work again.

 

Rick did not fix it in a single day. He did not fix it in two days. He did not fix it after taking a break to do some lines with Teely. He continued not fixing it in between angrily drinking and popping pills to keep him alert.

"I hate you," he told the lamp bluntly.

Rick didn't just hate the lamp, though. He hated the bastard who pawned it off on them to begin with. _Harvey._

It wasn’t long before Rick begrudgingly decided that was the answer he was looking for: Harvey. If anyone knew how to fix the stupid lamp it would be that annoying old man. 

He racked his brains, trying to remember if he ever found out the coordinates for Harvey’s shop. After drawing a blank he thought back to the last time he saw him. He and Stan had been arguing over the lamp, and somehow had been transported to his shop. Rick knew it must have been the lamp that took them there. 

He gripped the lamp in both hands and fixed it with an intense stare. 

“Take me to Harvey.”

The lamp stared back at him. Nothing happened. 

Rick groaned angrily, shaking the lamp back and forth. 

“Take. Me. To. _Harvey.”_

The lamp stayed dark, mocking him. Rick ground his teeth together, seething. He cursed Harvey and his stupid lamp, wanting nothing more than to slam it against the wall and smash it into a million pieces. 

Instead, he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, squeezing the lamp between his hands. 

“Take me to Harvey, please?” 

Suddenly the lamp began to glow a bright red, and the room melted away around him. The chair he was sitting in disappeared and he fell to the floor, in the middle of a familiar antique shop.  
  
“Welcome to Harvey’s Hubris!” a booming voice rang from across the room.

Rick sprung up. 

“Y-you son of a bitch!”

Rick raced to the other side of the shop. Harvey was behind the counter, staring at Rick with one eyebrow raised. He didn’t seem impressed at Rick’s rage.

“Ah, Mr. Sanchez, to what—“ Rick slammed the lamp onto the countertop; Harvey didn’t flinch— “do I owe this little visit.”

“This stupid lamp is broken again.”

Harvey peered intently at the lava lamp. He hummed in several different tunes. Rick tapped his foot increasingly quicker as Harvey took his sweet time.

“Well?” Rick finally snapped.

“Well, the lamp has told me everything I need to know.” It was Rick’s turn to look unimpressed. “The good news is this is fixable.”

Rick’s face lit up. “Great! Then work your _magic.”_ He wiggled his fingers mockingly. 

“Oh, not by me, dear boy. By _you.”_

Rick felt his face heat up. “I already told you I tried.”

“You tried to fix the wrong problem.”

“Th-then what do I need to fix?”

“Yourself.”

“Oh, fuck _off_ ,” Rick spat, ready to reach out and strangle the old geezer. “Just tell me how to fix th-this stupid lamp already and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

“It looks like I’ve touched a nerve,” Harvey mused. “Nonetheless, the lamp never lies. It’s quite simple really: the lamp is powered by love. You’ve fallen out of love. The lamp won’t work.” 

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense and you-you know it. Even if the damn thing _did_ run on love, it should still be working.” 

“What you’re doing isn’t out of _love,_ Mr. Sanchez. It’s out of something unhealthy, something that has been festering inside of you for quite some time now. I’m afraid I can’t help you. You must help yourself.” 

Rick glared daggers at him, snatching the lamp back into his arms. 

“I-I-I should’ve known you’d be a waste of my time,” he hissed. “I can’t believe you tried to sell th-this piece of _garbage_ for $2000. You’re nothing but a conman.” 

“Insult me all you want, Mr. Sanchez. It’s not going to fix that lamp or bring back Mr. Pines.”

“Yeah I’m fucking done here,” Rick growled, grabbing the lamp and turning around. “Have fun waiting around for some other schmuck to fuck over.”

“You know, you admitted it in a roundabout way.”

Rick paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“You implied you love Stanley, but you didn’t admit it. Implication is not always enough, Mr. Sanchez. Often actions speak louder than words.”

“You’re right, Harv.” Harvey’s eyes widened in surprise; they quickly fell as Rick flipped him off. “Guess what this action says.”

“All that needs to be said. At least slow down before you end up dead. Stanley couldn’t handle that right now on top of everything else.”

Rick frowned and turned away from him. Without another word he took out his portal gun and left Harvey’s Hubris.

Rick was back at Teely’s club, jaded and ready to drink until he forgot his name. Harvey was full of shit. He didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. And if he wasn’t going to help Rick fix the lamp, he’d just have to fix it himself. All he needed was the perfect mix of substances to get his mind going. Luckily, Teely had that all taken care of. 

Rick partied until he lost all sense of time and purpose. For a few golden hours—or was it days?—he was stuck in blissful ignorance, forgetting his problems more and more with each hit and drink he took. He floated in a hazy euphoria, worrying only about what he was going to take next to keep it going. 

Given the chance, Rick could have stayed there forever, swimming in a sea of denial and drugs. But eventually the lava lamp penetrated the haze, looming over all else and swallowing his good vibes in its darkness. The drugs started losing their effects and Rick started to grow restless. He knew his time with Teely was coming to a close.

Rick needed to get out of there, concentrate on the prize. How many times had he said that now? This time he meant it. 

Tired of unsatisfying goodbyes, Rick simply left without a word. Teely wouldn't care. Rick appreciated that.

What Rick needed was a quieter environment where he could _focus_ . He knew exactly where he needed to be. If she didn't slam the door in his face. 

So, Rick sobered up. After one last line to steady his nerves he cleaned up. Took a shower, ate something that wasn't laced with drugs, squirted some drops into his eyes to lessen the striking red they had become without his realizing. Then he portaled to Diane's.

Thankfully it wasn't the middle of the night; he hadn't thought to check the time, days and nights blending in with each other because time was meaningless. When she opened the door he was greeted by the scent of the dinner she had cooked: mashed potatoes, pork chops, and who knew what other savory treats. His stomach rumbled.

“H-hey there, Diane,” he said sheepishly. “May I come in?”

She leveled him with an unsurprised look, but didn’t allow him in. 

“What do you want, Rick?” 

“I-I-I just want to talk,” he said quickly. 

Diane stepped out of the house and shut the door behind her. She turned back to Rick and folded her arms. 

“You have three minutes.” 

Rick gulped. 

“Uh, well, I just wanted to say that I know what I did is unforgivable, and that I-I know you and Beth deserve the best and I haven’t exactly been able to deliver. I’ve been going through some shit and made some bad choices. The worst one was letting it all affect the two of you.”

He gave her what he hoped was an ashamed look. Her features softened.

"Rick..."

Holding up a hand he told her, "I'm not asking for forgiveness here. I-I was pretty shitty, and I fully understand how you would rather I be out of your lives. Especially Beth's."

Diane sighed.

"Rick, I do want you in our lives. _Especially_ Beth's. But just you, not an addiction. She loves you so much, she thinks the world of you." A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "And so do I." 

Rick's chest tightened. He was starting to think this hadn't been a good idea. There were too many emotions emanating from Diane and he didn't know how to process a single one of them.

“Rick,” Diane continued when he didn’t respond. “I’ve been doing some research and there are some support groups around here that I think you could really benefit from.”

Before he could stop himself, he made a face. Diane’s eyebrows knitted together. 

“Rick, honey.” Her voice softened. “You need _help._ I can’t let you back in this house unless you promise me that you’re going to try to get some help.” 

“I...” 

“I just want what’s best for you, Rick. What’s best for _us.”_

Rick took a deep breath, and looked Diane straight in the eyes. 

“It couldn’t hurt to try, could it?”

Diane smiled wide and hugged him. It wasn't too tight, but it definitely felt like she was afraid of letting go. Diane rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing her lips to his jaw.

"Thank you so much much, Rick. I'm here for you."

"Y-you've told me that before," he replied unsurely.

"Because I mean it. I love you, Rick."

Slowly, Rick raised his arms and placed them on her hips. He wondered if he could get the lava lamp fixed before she forced him to some addiction meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And where he have Rick’s healthy healthy response to tough situations–Fox
> 
> Someone needs to make a thug lyfe video of Harvey telling Rick insulting him ain’t gonna bring Stan back. That’s some Stone Cold Steve Austin shit. –Lynds


	14. Hitting Rick Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has a bad day. Or bad month. Let's just call it a bad year.

Rick glared at the darkened lava lamp before him, once again feeling as if he was being mocked. Months of failed after failed attempt at fixing the damn thing was more than his ego could take. More often than not he dreamt of taking the lamp and smashing it to a thousand pieces, splattering the unmoving fluid inside like brains against pavement. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Stan would never forgive him. He had to fix the stupid thing if he ever wanted to win him back.

He needed to find an alternate way of powering it, instead of whatever bullshit  _ “magic”  _ it supposedly ran off originally. Perhaps plutonium would—

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of a portal appearing as green light washed over the garage. Rick spun around on his stool. One hand shot out towards his own portal gun still safely on the counter where he'd left it earlier.   


To his surprise, he was greeted by his own face.

"This is the last thing I'd ever want to see," he said as the other Rick held up a hand in greeting. His alternate self scowled.

“Things don’t look much better from my end, buddy,” he sneered in return.    


“Wh-what, did you just come here to insult me?”    


“Obviously  _ not.”  _ The other Rick cleared his throat. “I’m here as a representative of the Citadel—eerrUPPP—of Ricks.”    


“‘Citadel of Ricks?’” Rick scoffed. “Sounds like a circle jerk I  _ don’t  _ want to be a part of.”

Alt Rick gave a long-suffering roll of his eyes, like he'd been through this a million times. And Rick would hope so; he refused to believe there was any sort of large numbers of himself who'd do something as stupid as whatever this Citadel was.   


"Well I can tell what kind of Rick you are," Alt Rick grumbled, earning two middle fingers. "Y-yeah, real fucking feisty, mother fucker. Let's get through this quick. The Citadel of Ricks is—urp—is a place by and for Ricks—”   


"Obviously."   


"—who have figured out transdimensional travel."   


"Wh-what, do we all get together and hand out fucking gold stars? Pin goddamn ribbons on our shirts then jack each other off?"

“Oh, I-I bet you feel real high and mighty talking down on the rest of us Ricks at the Citadel. D-d-do you realize how many times I’ve heard the same exact bullshit from other versions of us?”    


Alt Rick tossed a business card at Rick. It hit him in the chest before floating to the ground.    


“Y-you aren’t as special as you think.”    


And without another word Alt Rick was stepping through another portal, disappearing from sight. Rick glared at the spot where he stood, fuming. Who the hell did that guy think he was? He ignored the fact that it was himself, and glanced down to the card on the floor.    


Rolling his eyes, he stooped down to pick it up; besides some coordinates to what Rick assumed was the Citadel, it was blank. Letting out a derisive snort, he tossed it into a pile of junk on his workbench. Even if such a place existed, it was such a  _ bad  _ idea that he wanted no part in it.

Rick focused again on the lamp, preparing to get back to work. Like some cosmic joke he was interrupted again, this time by a knock on the door. It opened before he could invite in or deny access. Biting back a groan he turned around again; at least this time it was a face more pleasing than his own.   


"Hey, Rick, it's almost seven. You should leave now if you're gonna make it on time." Rick stared blankly at Diane. "The substance abuse meeting. Down at the rec center?"

"Oh, right, that." He had forgotten, mostly because he didn't want to remember.

"You promised me you'd go."

Rick had already skipped one meeting that week to stay home and work on the lamp. Well, he had skipped all of them because  _ no.  _ That was the opposite of a good fucking time. Diane just knew about the one time, though.

“I-I was just about to head out,” he lied.    


Diane face split into a tender smile. She pulled Rick into her arms, planting a soft kiss to his cheek. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “I appreciate your effort, Rick. You’re doing so well.”    


He forced a sheepish laugh.    


“I-I appreciate you appreciating me,” he joked.    


Diane pulled away with a snort.    


“Well, I need to get ready for work. The babysitter is already here with Beth, so make sure you’re back by 11. I’ll see you later tonight.”    


She kissed him again, this time on the lips, before finally leaving him alone. Rick waited until he heard the distant sound of the shower running before picking up his portal gun. He needed a good break from the lamp anyway; he was on the brink of actually following through with his destructive fantasies and needed something to clear his mind. Or rather, cloud it until he forgot about the lamp.

Rick had a certain knack for stumbling on the best parties, and it helped to keep acquaintances who had a knack for throwing them. One quick portal led him to a hopping time.    


Alien bar. Fast moving colored lights. Music so loud his inner voice had to scream to be heard, and even then Rick could manage to ignore it. Wasting no time he grabbed a couple of shots from a waitress and tossed them both back.

He got a proper drink, something that tasted like a dry martini poured into a whiskey sour, and scanned the crowd. It wasn't long until he spotted some familiar faces. It no time Rick had joined a group of aliens and was cutting lines of brightly colored crushed up crystals.

Soon enough Rick was good and not-sober, caught up in the rush of dopamine that was coursing through his brain. He was suddenly being pulled to the dance floor by an overly friendly alien who couldn’t keep their hands off of him. Rick allowed himself to get lost in the pulsing music, body swaying with the beat.    


Before Rick knew it the same alien was pulling him towards the bathroom and into a stall, numerous limbs feeling up and down his body. His heart was racing and his eyes lit up when the alien produced a delicate pipe seemingly from nowhere. Rick took a long drag, and immediately felt the effects of whatever drug was inside, like his brain was leaking out of his ears and floating into the atmosphere. And once again the alien was pressing against him, each touch feeling like the fluttering of a hundred tiny hummingbird wings against his skin.

Rick didn't put up any resistance. He relaxed under the blissful feel of this stranger who couldn't keep their appendages to themselves. Eyes falling shut, he lost himself just like he had come there for.   


It was like a slap to the face when his watch beeped prematurely. Muttering under his breath he brought it up to his face, squinting irately at the timepiece. Rick had set it for eleven so he wouldn't zone out and show up at home late. Didn't need to piss off Diane again. Also didn't need to have to deal with it blaring at him hours early—

Huh. Look at that. Four hours had already passed. Well, fuck.   


Rick glanced around. He was no longer in the bathroom, but at least he was still in the bar. No sign of the alien he had been with, either. At some point he had apparently replaced them with two others who were draped on either side of him. One passed him a joint which he gladly took, enjoying his last hit of the night.

Rick shot off a portal and traded the flashing lights of the bar for his darkened garage. He stumbled towards the wall, searching for the light switch. His eyes blinked blearily when he found it, before adjusting to the harsh fluorescents.    


As he lurched to his work bench, Rick noticed something was not quite right. Something was _ off.  _ He stared drunkenly at the various tools scattered across the bench, eyes finally landing on the lava lamp. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t the lamp he and Stan had gotten from Harvey. Time slowed to a crawl and Rick’s heart stopped.

He reached out tentatively, the drugs or disbelief making everything slow and surreal. Rick's fingers pressed against the glass of this imposter lamp. It was tangible. Rick picked up its cord, the most damning evidence that this wasn't just his synapses misfiring in his non-sober condition.   


All at once a switch was flipped inside of Rick and he was filled with a hideous mixture of dread and rage. At first he thought of Harvey. Would that old bastard have tracked the lamp and taken it from him, leaving this disgusting forgery to mock him? But no, that didn't seem his style.    


At least he hoped not. If Harvey had it Rick wouldn't be able to get it back. The lamp was the only way to Harvey's shop. He had tried to look up the coordinates the last time he'd portaled out of there, but the numbers appeared all fucked up on the gun, like digital dust.

Rick decided that if Harvey did do it, he would have left a more convincing fake, not this cheap, manufactured piece of garbage. His mind raced and an ugly possibility crept to the forefront of his thoughts: Diane had hidden the real lamp and left him with this hideous replacement.    


Rick tried to suppress the wave of rage that threatened to wash over him, but could not stop his hands from shaking. He jerked his head around, eyes scanning the garage for any sign of forced entry. There was none. Diane taking the lamp was the only logical possibility.

He raced into the main part of the house, passing the surprised babysitter. He ignored whatever she was saying to him as he scoured the house. She followed him, mouth running incessantly, as he looked.    


"Goddamn it," Rick muttered, tossing things out of the hallway closet. He repeated that sentiment when everything was out and no lamp was there.   


"Uh, Mister Sanchez?"   


Rick upturned couch cushions, recliner cushions. Nothing. There was a trunk of boardgames in a corner that he dumped. Nothing.   


"Is, is something missing, sir?"   


Rick let out a frustrated holler, running a hand through his hair. He stalked past the babysitter. She jumped back from him.

Her eyes followed him as he went to the kitchen, yanking open drawers and cabinet doors to make sure his lava lamp wasn’t hiding within. Rick cursed loudly when it didn’t appear, ripping open the pantry and forcefully rifling through the various cans and boxes, ignoring the bag of flour and jar of jelly that exploded as they hit the ground.    


The babysitter gave a small yelp at the sound of glass shattering, which earned an eye-roll from Rick. He raced to the restroom, tearing through the linen closet to make sure the lamp wasn’t nestled somewhere between some towels or extra sheets.    


“Where the  _ fuck  _ did she put it?” he growled between gritted teeth.

"I don't know what you're looking for," the babysitter squeaked, inching towards the phone. She dialed Diane's work number, not taking her eyes off Rick.   


Rick continued to ignoring her, barely registering her mumbling into the receiver. He stomped down the hallway towards their bedroom. As he neared Beth's room the little girl poked her head out, rubbing her eyes blearily.   


"Daddy's loud."   


"Daddy's busy, sweetie," Rick told her, not even casting a quick glance her way.

Rick swept past her and into their bedroom, immediately ripping through the closet. The lava lamp was nowhere to be found amongst the clothes and shoes, or even with the various boxes and containers that lined the shelves.    


Rick let out a frustrated roar, running his hands through his hair. He desperately dove to the ground, eyes scanning frantically under the bed. It was empty.    


Rick was running out of places to search and a dull ache was beginning to form in his right temple. He crawled over to their set of drawers and tore them open, clearing out all clothes to see no lamp hidden among the socks and underwear.

Had she hidden it in his own work space? Right under his fucking nose? Fueled with an indignant hope he hurried back to the garage, passing the babysitter who was holding Beth. The little girl called out to him but it was just white noise.   


He blew through the garage, only leaving alone the secret or locked compartments he knew there was no chance she had gotten into. The pit of dread that had settled into his chest only grew as he continued to come up with nothing. The imposter lamp jeered at him.

His chest heaved as he realized the lamp was not in the garage. Not in the living room or kitchen or anywhere else he had searched. The only place left to look was Beth’s room. Of fucking course. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the front door burst open and Diane’s concerned voice ringing through the house:    


“Rick? What’s going on?”    


He stopped dead in his tracks, body rigid.    


“Where is it, Diane?” he forced through clenched teeth.    


“Excuse me?”

Rick spun around, arms flying out as he gestured erratically.   


"My lava lamp. Where. Is. It?"   


"Rick, calm down. Leslie, please go tuck Beth back into bed."   


The teen went to comply, walking far around Rick. Beth reached out towards him, her little hand repeatedly making a grabbing motion. Leslie pulled her back and she tried to escape her grasp to no avail. Rick didn't even notice her.   


"Rick," Diane said, approaching him slowly. She laid a gentle hand on his upper arm. "Rick, everything's fine. I still have your lamp. It's out in the car."   


Relief flooded Rick and he relaxed in her hold, letting Diane lead him outside. She opened the backseat and stepped aside. Sure enough there was the lava lamp, the  _ real  _ lava lamp, insides still frustratingly dark. He didn't focus on that now, however, zooming into the car and snatching it up.

Rick cradled the lamp close to him as he skulked back inside and into his garage, slamming the door shut. Diane followed him into the house, eyes wide as she surveyed the mess Rick had left behind in his desperate search for the lamp. She thanked Leslie and handed her some cash before walking her out. After checking to make sure Beth was safe and sound in her bed, Diane knocked tentatively on the door to the garage. When Rick didn’t answer, she let herself in.    


He was sitting at his workbench, head down as he clenched the lamp between both fists.    


“Rick, what’s going on?” she repeated, brow furrowed.     


Silence.    


“Rick?” Diane prodded, taking a step towards him. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

She put a light hand on his shoulder. When he didn't shrug her off she let it rest there. Rick still didn't say anything and she let out a small sigh.   


"Rick, I'm so sorry. I really didn't expect you to...to act like this. I only wanted to do something nice for you. Because you've been working so hard on getting better. So I replaced your lava lamp. I know how much effort you've been putting into that lava lamp to get it working again, and thought it'd be a nice surprised. I'm sorry, Rick. I just wanted, well, I guess I just wanted to show you that you're not hopeless, Rick. I love you, Beth loves you, and we want you here with us."

Rick finally turned to face Diane, though he kept his eyes downcast.    


“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “I guess I overreacted. I just....”    


His voice trailed off and his eyes rested on the darkened lamp.    


“Th-this isn’t just any old lamp,” he went on in a shaking voice. “It’s very important to me. I, uh, guess that meeting left me dealing with a lot of stuff.” His tone turned bitter. “It just caught me off guard.”

"Oh, Rick. I shouldn't have done something like this without your permission, I should have realized."   


Her understanding was like a knife in his chest, and it twisted when she wrapped her arms around him.    


"I-i-it, it's okay, Diane. It was a sweet gesture."   


Rick pressed his face into her hair. Silently he cursed his tantrum and his stupid, sentimental emotions. He need to fix this lamp before he lost his goddamn mind.

* * *

 

Rick threw down his wrench in disgust. He would have thrown the Thlexian minerals he was working with except they were highly volatile and would cause an explosion large enough to destroy him and the garage. As tempting as that was, Rick refrained.

An idea had wiggled into his mind and so he'd been trying to find an off-planet energy solution. It would take both hands to count how many different materials he had already tried. It would take zero fingers to count how many had thus far worked.  It would take two fingers, his middle ones, to petulantly flip off the lamp. Which Rick did.

The lamp stared back, it's darkness laughing at him in return. The lamp had already taken months and months of Rick's hardest efforts, with no success. How much longer would he have to work on the thing before it would actually work again? It was starting to seem impossible. But Rick wouldn't accept that. He was Rick-fucking- _ Sanchez. _ He could do anything. He just needed more time.

Rick set the lamp to the side and propping his elbows up and holding his head in his hands, fingers clutching at his wild hair. He stared blankly at the table below him, eyes unfocused. After a moment Rick blinked, releasing his breath that he didn't realize he had been holding.

There had to be an answer  _ somewhere. _ He was a  _ genius, _ he wouldn't be beaten by a goddamn lamp.

A terrible notion popped into his head. He tried to shake it off, but to no avail.

Rick Sanchez didn't need help; he'd gone to Harvey, and that moment of failed confidence had done nothing for him. Then again, Harvey was just some asshole with a pawn shop.

As Rick lifted his head and stared at the dark lamp he realized he needed to help himself.

The card that alternate Rick had left was tucked away in a drawer. He fished it out and put the coordinates into his portal gun. Rick scooped up the lamp with one hand, the other firing off a portal. Then, with a deep breath, he walked through.

He was suddenly walking through a large courtyard adorned with fountains and topiary, towering structures in the distance looming all around. Rick was surrounded by alternate versions of himself, walking either alone or being followed by some kid in a yellow shirt. There were almost as many kids as there were Ricks. He couldn't help the small sense of awe as he took it all in, stopping dead in his tracks. The moment didn't last long, however, as another, older Rick slammed his shoulder against his own, causing him to stumble.

"Rick-ochet out the way!" the Rick sneered, earning a snort from the kid who was trailing behind him.

"Good one, Rick!" the kid cheered, slapping him a high five.

"Th-thanks, Mor—eeeRUUPP—ty."

Rick decided that every other version of himself was a douchebag and he hated whoever these numerous obnoxious kids were. Not even in the citadel for five minutes and he already needed a drink. Hopefully he could find a bar—

Oh, just around the corner. Convenient. And, glancing to the other side, another bar. Well at least some Ricks around there had some sense.

He went into the nearest one. It was nice enough: classy decor, a fishtank with all his personal favorites, the light gentle enough on the eyes while not being so dark you trip over your own fucking feet. Good to know he wasn't the only Rick out there with taste.

Rick went up to the counter and took an empty stool at the end. He scanned the crowd. There were plenty of his face, or something similar. Some of those faces seemed roughly his age, some looked like old men. A few seemed even younger than him.

Rick ordered a drink to drown out the existential questions this was all causing.

The Rick behind the bar set a glass of straight whiskey before him. Rick took it gratefully, knocking it down in one gulp. He was just about to order another when a familiar burst of gruff laughter came from his left. He jerked his head around, eyes widening when they landed on a face that didn't mirror his own: Stan. He was sitting at a table with another Rick, both of looking to be around his age. Rick took another good look at the patrons of the bar, picking out a few more Stans among the crowd. How he could have missed them the first time, he had no idea. He swallowed against a sudden lump that had formed in his throat.

"L-looks like you could use another drink," Bartender Rick commented, already setting another glass of whiskey down.

"You-you got that right," Rick muttered, shooting it down.

He motioned for another, and as the bartender indulged him he asked how many Stans were at the citadel.

"I don't keep count. Enough to be noticeable." Bartender Rick snorted. "H-hell, one'd be noticeable. They're handfuls, huh?"

"Mine is," Rick absentmindedly agreed before knocking back the latest whiskey.

"Same. D-doesn't help that he and Diane egg each other on into wild schemes whenever I turn my back."

Rick choked on his drink. He coughed out, "D-Diane? You have both? And they interact?"

Bartender Rick nodded. "I'm not the only one. I can think of five other Ricks off the top of my head who're dating both."

A buzzing sort of ire settled over Rick. He officially hated the citadel.

Rick glared around at the happy, laughing Ricks and Stans around him, loathing their smiles. He hunched over his drink, this time sipping instead of chugging it down, wanting to really  _ feel _ that burn. Eventually the glass was empty and he asked for something stronger. Bartender Rick winked at him, reaching up to pull a jug from the highest shelf. He poured him a fat shot, sliding the glass down the bar for Rick to stop with his hand.

He knocked it back, almost choking when it hit the back of his throat. He powered through the burn, eyes stinging as he swallowed.

"Th-that's what I'm talking about," he crooned. "Is that moonshine homemade?"

"Made it right here in the Citadel," Bartender Rick confirmed, beaming proudly.

"I'll take two shots of that," said a Stan that suddenly appeared at Rick's side.

As Bartender Rick poured his drink, the Stan looked Rick up and down, cocking an eyebrow.

"So, first time at the Citadel?" he asked nonchalantly as he was handed his drink.

Rick hummed in confirmation, taking one of the shots and draining it. He hoped he looked cool and composed because his insides were all fucking twisting together like he was some fucking teen.

"I tried to stay away, but the lure of seeing thousands of douchebags that look like me was too strong."

Stan laughed, a genuine sound that filled Rick with warmth.

"Not to pry, but what's with the lava lamp?"

"It's the bane of my existence and i-i-if I believed in magic I'd say— _ urp _ —say I was cursed by the multiverse's douchiest wizard."

Stan snorted, muttering something that sounded like  _ typical Rick reaction. _ Rick quirked his eyebrow.

"Eh-excuse me?"

"I'm just amused by what you said. I think it's funny how stubbornly every Rick I've ever interacted with refuses to believe in magic. At least ta begin with."

Rick rolled his eyes.

"Even if magic  _ does _ exist, it's not gonna help me get this lamp working again. If science can't fix this thing--eeruUPP--nothing can."

Stan flashed him a grin.

"Whatever you say, Rick."

Rick's cheeks were suddenly burning and he busied himself by taking another drink of moonshine. This time he did cough, hacking loudly with streaming eyes. A few of the Ricks around him stopped their conversations to turn to stare at Rick, snickering openly as he struggled to  catch his breath. Stan slapped his back a few times, knocking him forward and against the bar.

"You alright there, newbie?" he asked with real concern. "Need some water?"

"Fuck water," he gasped, motioning for a refill. Bartender Rick happily obliged.

"Yeesh. Don't you think you should slow—" Rick threw the drink back, forcing the potent booze down. "—down. Of course.”

Rick's whole throat and chest were on fire, and if it was possible to have a heart attack from this much moonshine he might find out soon. But he felt redeemed.

"You're living proof that magic is real," Stan chuckled. Rick flashed him a grin.

"Th-that a come-on?"

"No, a compliment to your liver."

"Hard-hardest working liver in the galaxy," Rick said proudly, patting his right side.

Stan opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when an arm slung around his neck, pulling him tight to another Rick.

"Y-you get the drinks, babe?" the Rick laughed, planting a big kiss on the side of Stan’s cheek.

"Got 'em right here."

Rick felt an unwarranted bubble of jealousy rise in his gut as he watched the other Rick kiss Stan again, this time on the lips, before the two of them knocked down the shots. When they finished the Other Rick emitted a large belch, before eyeing Rick up and down.

"What's with the lava lamp?" he echoed his Stan.

"I-it's not magic," Rick replied defensively before he could stop himself. The Other Rick quirked his brow; his Stan hid a smile. Quickly he added, "I'm trying to fix it."

"How hard could that be, if it's not magic?"

Rick really wanted to bust this asshole's lip open; most people would kill for the cartharsis of beating the shit out of their own face. He should take the golden opportunity while he could.

"Alright, enough teasing him," Stan chided before Rick could raise a fist. "At least not until you've looked to see if you could even do something for it."

Rolling his eyes, the Other Rick replied, "Give me one good reason."

"'Cause I asked ya too."

Rick was starting to feel queasy watching them interact. He tried to be angry but almost melted when he saw the look Stan was giving his Rick. The Other Rick was similarly affected.

"I-I-I hate when you do that to me," he grumbled, though he couldn't hide his grin. He held his hand out to Rick. "Here, let me see that thing.”

Rick held the lamp even tighter against his chest, eyes narrowing.

"Who-who said I needed help?" he said defensively.

"Baby," Other Rick mumbled. Stan smacked his arm.

"It's why ya came, right?"

And Stan shot him such a dazzling smile that Rick could feel his heart breaking all over again. He covered up the lump in his throat with more moonshine, holding the lamp out to them.

Both reached for it at once, and when they touched it suddenly the lamp lit up. Rick turned to it in slow motion, mouth falling open. The lava lamp glowed with a beautiful blue hue, the goo inside already heating up and starting to bubble around. It shone as bright as when he and his Stan had first held it in Harvey's shop. Brighter, even. His eyes stung the longer he gazed at it.

"Holy shit," Stan remarked, eyebrows raised. "That's beautiful. Doesn't look very broken to me."

Rick snatched the lamp away from them, and the lamp instantly died.

"It  _ is  _ broken," Rick insisted, eyes still wide.

"I-I don't know if we're seeing the same thing," Other Rick chided in, "but that lamp is the opposite of broken. How much you want for it?"

"It's not for sale," Rick spat, glaring at him.

He clutched the lamp close, unable to process what had just occurred. He looked down to the lamp that was completely dark once again, as if it had never lit up. He wanted to shake it, scream at it, demand to know why it worked for them and not for him. The Other Rick was mouthing off, but his words were a jumbled buzz in Rick's ears. His breathing became uneven and the room began to tilt. He shot his arm out to grip the bar, trying to support himself when his legs suddenly felt incredibly weak.

Stan's voice pierced the veil that had fallen around him, strong and concerned: "Hey newbie, you ok?"

_ No. _

"I-I-I, I'm too fucking sober."

"I know how to fix that," Other Rick said, and before Rick knew it there was a row of shots in front of them.

One wasn't enough. Two proved not to be enough, either, or three or four. At five it occurred to Rick how off kilter the world was. He ordered another shot just to set the world right.

Soon Rick wasn't able to stand again, but for entirely different reasons. He smiled drunkenly at the Other Rick and Stan, which they returned. At some point he had set the lamp down on the table, one hand still clutching it tightly while he drank. Another, older Rick came up to the bar to order, stopping in his tracks when his eyes landed on the lava lamp.

"H-Hey! You've been to Harvey's, too?" he exclaimed. He gestured behind him. "Stan! Come look at this!"

Rick felt his buzz deteriorate slightly, staring daggers at the new pair as they approached him with surprised smiles.

"Heh, I haven't seen another pair o' us with one of Harvey's lamps," this second Stan commented.

Rick's eyes narrowed at the new hands touching his lamp. Again it turned on with a vibrant, mocking light. A surge of anger shot through him and he had to resist the urge to smash the glass against this older Rick's face. That would be too much effort, and his body was far too heavy.

"It's broken," he insisted.

The new Rick snorted. "It's not gonna light up without your partner, idiot."

"It's  _ broken,” _ Rick repeated, swaying slightly where he sat.

"Harvey's products are  _ unbreakable," _ Older Rick shot back. "That guy doesn't—eerruuPP—fuck around. Look, just call your Stan over here and I'll show you."

Rick stayed silent, staring intently at his drink, wishing he could dive in and drown in it.

"Where's your Stan?"

Rick didn't realize his fist had moved until it collided with his other self's smug ass chin. That had probably been a hasty not-conscious decision, but he didn't have the chance to regret it before he found himself flat on his back. The next few minutes were a flurry of fists and adrenaline. The room was spinning, and he couldn't tell if he was seeing double or if that was a side effect of being in a hellhole full of hims.

Someone was hoisting him up. He jerked against their grasp, but they held firm. The Older Rick's Stan was likewise holding him back. He was flailing just as hard, trying to get back to swinging at him. People were talking—more like yelling—but Rick was too far gone to understand anything.

Rick was vaguely aware of the person steering him through the bar and out the door, shoving him to the street. He stumbled but managed to stay on his feet, miraculously still clutching the lamp close to his side.

"Get your shit together," spat the big, muscular Rick who had thrown him out of the bar. "Belliger-Ricks aren't tolerated here."

"F-fuck you," Rick slurred, lifting his middle finger to Bouncer Rick.

"Yeah, fuck me," he replied sarcastically, before slamming the door in Rick's face.

"Wh-whatever," Rick muttered to himself, shuffling down the street among the other Ricks. A Stan who looked around his age caught his eye, standing alone by what looked like a bus stop. “H-hey there, handsome.”

Stan raised an eyebrow as Rick slid up ungracefully next to him, leaning against the sign so he wouldn't fall back down. The world refused to stay still.

"Yeesh, you look pretty fucked up, buddy. Gonna have a nasty shiner in the morning."

Rick grinned. "J-just a lil altercation 'tween Ricks. So w-wh, what's a cute guy like you doin' all by himself?"

"Waiting for my Rick to finish up some business so we can jet," Stan replied, flashing a smile. Rick was sure his heart skipped a beat.

"Forget th-that guy, I-I-I can show you a good time." Rick waggled his eyebrow suggestively, scooting closer to Stan.

"Uh, no thanks, pal." Stan took a step back.

"Come on, l-let's leave this dump," Rick urged. "I promise you-you won't regret it."

A bus pulled up next to them, a stream of Ricks pouring out of the doors as they opened. One of them headed straight for Stan, eyeing Rick suspiciously.

"Hey babe. This guy bothering you?" he growled, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

"He was just leaving, like we are. C'mon, babe."

Stan tugged on his Rick's arm. He turned to follow, but not before muttering, "Pathetic."

Rick saw red. He lunged at the other Rick, and then he saw the sky. Dimly he thought about how his back would hurt like hell when he was sober. Had he hit his head on the pavement, too? Judging by the shooting pain on the back of his skull probably. But that was a problem for future Rick. Present Rick barely had presence of mind to check the lava lamp. Thankfully the jeering bastard was unharmed.

Rick struggled to his feet, leaning against the bus stop for support. He briefly considered walking over to another bar that was just across the street, but the thought of interacting with himself again made him feel sick. Or maybe that was just the booze. Either way, the Citadel's charm was rapidly fading. Besides, he needed something stronger than alcohol after that incident in the bar.  After finding his portal gun he shot it off, leaving the Citadel behind him.

The garage was dark and quiet, as was the rest of the house. After setting the lamp down, Rick flipped the lights on, blinking against their brightness before opening a compartment he had hidden in the wall. Inside awaited his latest stash that he had been experimenting with. He grabbed a seemingly empty bottle and stumbled to his work bench. Opening the bottle released a cloud of multicolored smoke that Rick quickly inhaled, holding his breath as long as he could. After exhaling, he collapsed onto a chair, eyes unfocused.

He wasn't sure how long he was slumped there, gazing unseeingly at his work counter. Time meant nothing, ceased to be a real thing.

Colors bled into each other, mingled and danced and became new shades. The only part of the world that wasn't sparkling was that goddamn lamp. Everything swirled around the lamp, imitating the bubbles it refused to make for him anymore.

Rick glared at the dark glass. Rage sizzled inside him. He wanted to scream, to portal to Oregon and throw that stupid root of all his problems right at Stan's feet. See it shattered on the floor, goo oozing out as an imitation of blood. Then maybe the hold it had over Stan would be broken and  _ finally  _ they could be together again.

Rick was tired. He was  _ lonely. _

Before he knew it, Rick was lumbering out of the garage and down the hallway. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him towards his and Diane's bedroom. He opened the door none too quietly, accidentally banging it against the wall. Diane, who had been sleeping soundly in their bed, was roused by the noise, blinking blearily at Rick in the dark.

"Rick? Is that you?" she said sleepily. "What time is it?"

"H-hey, babe," he replied, ignoring her question. "Sorry I-I was out so late."

"Where were you? What time is it?"

She watched him stumble over to the bed, tripping over his own gangly feet and falling onto it head first. She put a hand on his face, shocked at how clammy he felt. Diane reached over to the end table and turned on the lamp. Rick winced against the sudden light.

"Rick, are you alright?"

"Fine. But not as fine as you."

Rick pushed himself up on all fours and crawled to her, straddling her legs. He winked with the eye that didn't feel like it was already glued shut.

"Oh my god, your face. Rick, what happened?"

"W-well we can't all be ah-ah-as pretty as you, D." Rick lifted a hand towards her face, nearly toppling sideways as he was suddenly off balance.

Diane's face slowly morphed from concerned to enraged.

"Rick. You've been drinking. Or are you on drugs?"

"Baseless accusations."

Rick leaned in for a kiss. Diane pushed his face away.

“Get off of me,” she snapped.

“Aw, c’mon Diane,” Rick protested, pouting. “I-it was just a drink. Or t-two.”

He tried to kiss her again, falling on his face when she scooted away.

“Rick.” Diane’s voice was firm. “I’m going to need you to leave.”

Rick furrowed his brow, staring up at her in confusion.

"L-leave the room?"

She released a short, angry sigh.

"No, Rick. I need you to leave this house. Now."

Diane might as well have slapped him. Something went cold and numb inside of Rick.

"Rick, if you need me to help you stand, I will. Just, please leave."

"I don't need anything from you," he suddenly growled. He shoved himself off the bed, wobbling a bit but steadying himself on the edge of the mattress. "I-I-I don't have to deal with this bullshit."

Rick stormed out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open behind him. Everything that mattered to him was in the garage. He grabbed a crate and started shoving in different tools and drugs, some unopened bottles, and of course the lava lamp. Then he grabbed the portal gun.

He paused before firing it. Rick had nearly forgotten his jacket—Stan's jacket—and he quickly snagged it from the hallway closet. He stared down at the red fabric, lost. Should he go to Stan now? Even if the lamp was still broken?

Fuck it. What did he have to lose that he hadn't already? A portal ripped open in midair, and Rick stepped through. The Oregon sky was overcast with heavy clouds, a light drizzle of rain falling on Rick as the portal closed behind him. The cabin stood in front of him, a new sign on the roof emblazoned with the words "The Mystery Shack." Rick stumbled to the door and set his crate down on the porch. He knocked tentatively on the front door.

No answer. 

He knocked again, harder. The knob turned, and Rick's heart stopped. The door opened a crack, and Rick caught a brief glimpse of Stan's eye before it widened, and the door slammed shut again. He heard multiple locks click into place. The bubble rage that had been welling up inside of him suddenly burst, and Rick let out a furious roar.

"Stan! I  _ know _ you're in there!" he shouted, banging on the door with both fists.

Stan didn't even have the courtesy to tell him to go away. The shack remained silent, and closed.

Rick beat his fists against the wood until they were heavy and useless, screamed himself raw. He got no response. The rain had picked up and now he was drenched. Rick couldn't care less. With one final kick to the door frame which reverberated throughout his whole leg, Rick spun around.

Well fuck, Rick could take a goddamn hint. Fuck Stan, fuck Diane, and fuck that stupid lava lamp.

Rick needed a minute to think. He couldn't do it here. He opened up a new portal and stepped through.

The place was in ruins. It should have felt satisfying; he had been the one to start the fire, after all. Instead it just made him feel...empty.

He had really set this place ablaze. Their old hideout was ash and a few barely standing support walls. He dropped down, leaning heavily against one. It seemed stable enough. Not that he particularly cared if it toppled over and crushed him.

Rick rifled through the crate, fingers closing around the neck of a bottle. He popped it open and brought it to his lips, barely tasting the whiskey as it slid down his throat. He guzzled down half before stopping for a breath; he reached into the crate once more to pull out a vial of glowing green powder. Setting the bottle down, he took hit after hit of the stuff until the vial was empty. A numbness spread across his face and faded into the rest of his body. It didn't last more than a few minutes and soon he was feeling like shit again. 

He let out a frustrated groan, digging around until he found a pillbox. He took all of the capsules that were inside, rinsing them down with the rest of the whiskey. After a moment the world around him began to turn hazy, his vision doubling. His head swayed, before falling heavily against the wall behind him. Already, the high was beginning to subside. A low whimper left his mouth.

Rick reached into the crate again, fingers brushing against the lamp. His body went rigid, and he suddenly was not able to swallow past the lump that developed in his throat. He pulled the lava lamp out, staring at it intently. All he could think about was how brightly it had shone for the other Ricks and Stans at the Citadel. Lower lip trembling, Rick tried to blink past the tears that were welling in his eyes.

Shutting his eyes he pressed his face to the crook of an arm. He needed to get out of there; the soot was messing with him, and that couldn't be healthy.

He couldn't stand going back to Teely. He didn't want the noise, the party. Mostly he didn't want to go crawling back like some desperate loser who couldn't keep anyone attached to him.

A face popped into his mind. Someone he hadn't seen in a long time, not since he was in a band. Someone who would actually open the fucking door instead of leaving him in the rain like a bad soap opera. Someone he'd always been able to rely on before.

Rick shoved the lamp back into the crate and fumbled with the coordinates on the portal gun. Thankfully no amount of drugs would make him forget the location of one of his dearest friends.

He shot off one last portal and stepped through. He was high up. Rick tried not to stumble off the edge as he forced himself to the front door. Knocking was painful, but thankfully it opened after just a few taps.

"Oh. Hello, Rick."

"Heh-hey there, Bird Person," Rick said weakly. "Long time, no see, buddy."

"What a pleasant surprise," Bird Person replied. "Please, come in."

He opened the door wide to welcome Rick in. He stepped through gratefully, setting his crate down.

"Are you ok, Rick? You are hurt," Bird Person remarked, leading him to his dining table. "Do you require medical attention? I can take you to a healing center."

Rick waved him off.

"I-It's fine. I'm fine." Rick sat down heavily. Voice trailing off he repeated, "I'm fine."

Bird Person was a hard man to read for most. He was subtle. Even after the years spent apart Rick could still see the gears turning in his friend's head, see him instantly figuring out that his words were hollow, but he wasn't referring to his—admittedly poor—physical state.

"I am here to talk, as always," he offered, taking a seat across from Rick.

"Not much to say. I got into a little scrape, no big deal. I've had worse and you know it."

He had been flippant, but Bird Person wasn't buying it. He fixed Rick with an unrelenting gaze. Rick fidgeted in his seat, fingers running over his arms, through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. Unable to hold Bird Person's gaze he glanced at everything but the other man.

"You seem unwell. I am not referring to your physical afflictions," Bird Person stated after a stretch of silence.

Rick didn't respond, opting to stare at his feet instead.

After a moment, Bird Person continued: "It has indeed been a long while since we have seen each other, Rick. How have you been?"

Opening his mouth to reply, Rick found that he couldn't find any words as he was suddenly hit with an onslaught of emotion. A series of memories played in his head like a broken projector: meeting Stan at a Flesh Curtains concert; their first date at the ice cream parlor; getting the lamp from Harvey; Diane's phone call; Stan confronting him about the postcard; Stan leaving. It was more than Rick could handle. A strangled sob was all that fell from his lips, and suddenly a flood of tears was streaming down his face.

He shut his eyes, palms digging into them, but that did nothing to stop his crying. An arm was around him suddenly. Rick leaned into the embraced. He started babbling incoherently, not even sure himself quite what he was saying. Bird Person listened to it all.

It was another moment where time didn’t seem to flow right. How long did he cry, pressed against his friend? Five minutes, an hour, Rick wasn’t sure. Eventually his tears dried up and he devolved into pitiful hiccups while Bird Person rubbed his back.

“From what I could gather, you have made some mistakes,” he ventured softly. Rick gave an ugly snort.

“Y-yeah. Never should have gotten th-that, that stupid lamp.”

“No, that was not a mistake. I mean your copious amount of narcotics and alcohol, and the numerous lies.”

"I...I guess you're right," Rick grumbled, almost unwilling to admit it.

But in his gut, he knew that he was right. Rick had known for a while. He took a deep, sobering breath and looked his friend in the eyes.

"I-I-I don't know what to do or where t-to go, Bird Person." 

"You are always welcome in my home, Rick," Bird Person responded. "It may be best for you to take some time to get better, not just for those around you, but for yourself."

"But wh-what about Stan? And Diane and Beth? I-I can't just leave them."  

"They will go on." Bird Person paused. "I will not force you to stay. The decision is yours to make."

Rick swallowed down another sob that threatened to escape. Wiping at his face he chose, “I want to stay here. I...I want to get better, Bird Person.”

“I am glad. I will go ready the spare bed for you.”

Rick followed him into the other room, not quite ready to be alone. He was so tired of being alone inside his own head. It was miserable in there. So Rick watched his friend, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind laughing at him. That voice called him weak and told him he was wasting time. It told him that he should have already fixed that stupid lamp. It told him he needed a drink.  

Rick would have burst into fresh tears if he had any left. As it was he barely managed to swallow back a dry sob.

“You should rest now, Rick,” Bird Person said, coming over and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

"D-don't leave," Rick managed to choke out. "Please."

"Of course. I will stay with you as long as you need me, Rick."

He sat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him. Rick kicked off his shoes and clambered into the bed, laying next to Bird Person. His friend gently patted his back as more tears managed to find their way out of Rick's eyes. They stayed there in comfortable silence, until Rick eventually cried himself to sleep. He didn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Included in this chapter: A man who totally has his shit together. -Fox 
> 
> I'm worse at creating Rick puns than I thought I was. Sorry y'all. -Lynz


	15. Friends, Old and New Alike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan makes some new friends and avoids old ones. Also he almost dies.

Stan was in the kitchen when he heard the knock. The Mystery Shack had already been closed for the day, and the only visitors he ever got were either Mormon or someone trying to sell him something, neither of which was of any interest to him. So Stan ignored the sound, continuing to work on the potatoes he was peeling for his dinner. 

A few moments later the knocking continued, harder and louder. Stan sighed heavily before setting down the potato and knife in his hands, making his way towards the front of the shack. Cursing the lack of a peephole, he unlocked the door and opened it a crack to see who would be bothering him so late.

Stan had never slammed a door shut quicker.    


He clicked every lock into place, hands trembling. His heart thudded against his ribcage, matching Rick's demanding fist on the door. Rick had yelled something, but the words were lost to Stan. He didn't  _ want  _ to hear them.

So he covered his ears and hoped Rick wouldn't portal inside. There was a bat by the door. The thought of having to swing it at Rick made his stomach twist and nausea grip him, but he'd do it if the other man didn't leave. Not that he wanted to hurt Rick, but Stan was just so  _ tired. _

The banging didn’t stop, and Stan was almost afraid that Rick would knock the door down. He darted for the bat, holding it above his head with shaking hands. Stan could just make out the sound of rain pouring outside over the incessant noise of Rick’s knocking. There was one final pound against the door, sounding like Rick had actually tried to kick it in, before it finally stopped.    


Stan waited for a moment, still poised to strike if he had to. He listened sharply for the sound of a portal opening in the house, looked around for any glowing green light, but the only thing he could hear was the heavy rain. Not trusting his own senses, Stan slowly crept through the house, bat in hand, to make sure that he was still alone.

To his surprise it seemed like Rick really had left. Stan was alone again. He sighed in relief, lowering the bat. Soon, though, that thought— _ alone again _ —squeezed at his chest. Stan swallowed hard and shoved his loneliness aside. He had potatoes to finish peeling.

As he put them to boil there was another knock at the door. Stan was seized with dread. After a moment of no response the knock came again, soft but insistent. Not a heavy, demanding pound. It couldn't be Rick again.   


Curiosity taking over, Stan went to the door. After undoing the numerous locks he cracked it open, this time revealing an unfamiliar face. Stan had never been happier to see a stranger.   


Whoever it was didn't look in the best shape. Shirt half untucked and missing the top button, pants only held up thanks to his belt. He was wringing his hands together nervously, eyes shifting around like he expected someone to jump out and attack him. Now here, finally, was a guy who looked like more of a mess than him; Stan instantly liked him.

It helped that the guy was a twig and if he tried anything funny Stan wouldn't have any problems handling him.

“St-Stanford?” the man stammered with a heavy Southern twang. “May I come in?”    


“Uh, right now isn’t really a good—”   


“Please, Stanford, it’s freezing out here.”    


The man fixed him with such a mournful, distressed gaze as the raindrops thundered down on him, almost soaked through his disheveled clothes. As much as Stan wanted to turn him away, his own mouth betrayed him.    


“Aw, what the hell. Come on in.”    


He stepped to the side and allowed the strange man to walk through the door.

The stranger stared up at him, eyes large like a damn doe or something. He didn't say anything, and now that he was inside his eyes didn't shift around as much. Instead they focused on Stan, and he shifted nervously under the gaze.   


"So, uh, you," Stan said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.    


"I know I...at least I think I said I'd never be back. I probably shouldn't be back." He shivered.

"No, no, it's fine," Stan replied, silently kicking himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. This was an actual friend of Stanford's, what the hell was he doing? It would be so easy for this guy to figure his ruse out.    


It hit him that he wasn't wearing those six fingered gloves and quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping the stranger was too fuddled to notice.

The man continued to stare at him, eyes narrowing just slightly.    


“Uh, why don’t you take a seat in the living room? Would you like something to drink?” Stan asked, trying to deflect attention away from himself.    


“I’m fine,” the stranger replied. “I’m here to talk to you, Stanford.”    


Stan mentally winced at the name, but offered the man a smile.    


“Well, you see, now’s not such a great time,” he said quickly. “I’m in the middle of work—”   


“I hope you’re not still working on that there portal.”    


Stan’s eyes shot wide open, his confusion ever growing.    


“How do you—I mean, uh, what portal?”

"Damn it, don't you play games with me, Stanford!" the stranger snapped, a sudden fire in his eyes that startled Stan.   


"Hey, take it easy."   


_ “Easy?  _ I haven't been able to take it easy for so long and you know it! I see that eye still, Stanford. That watching eye, taunting me. He wants me to break. Knows I'm the only one who can convince ya to see." He laughed, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it none-too-gently.    


"Yeesh. You're kinda freaking me out there, buddy."   


"Is that so? Well I'm 'freaked out' by your hellbent desire to destroy our world!"

“Destroy the world?” Stan gave the man a look. “I’m not sure about all that. You sure you don’t need some water or somethin’?”    


“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, Stanford. If anyone is crazy around here it’s  _ you  _ for building that—that  _ death trap!  _ You’ll kill us all if you complete it.”    


“Listen, I ain’t trying to hurt anybody. Just cool it down, ok pal?”    


Stan took a step towards him, but the stranger faltered back defensively in return. His eyes narrowed into an icy glare.    


“There’s somethin’ different about you, Stanford. I can’t quite put my finger on it...”    


Stan coughed nervously, sinking his hands even further into his pockets.    


“I don’t know what you’re talking about, uh, man. Let me get you that glass of water.”

As Stan turned towards the kitchen he nearly missed the stranger's next words, spoken softly. Like a man broken.   


"I know my brain's faulty right now. I've got gaps. Some days I have trouble remembering my own name."   


Stan swallowed hard and asked, "Do you remember it right now?"   


He glanced back at the stranger who was worrying his bottom lip. After a moment's hesitation he replied, "F-Fiddleford. Right?"   


His eyes were gleaming saucers and Stan was overcome with pity.   


"Yeah. Fiddleford. It's good to have your own name."   


The stranger, Fiddleford, gave him a small smile. He sighed wistfully and said, "I miss you so much, Stanford."   


"Me, too," Stan said without thinking. At least, not thinking about the man before him. He replayed his brother being sucked into that portal like he had a thousand times before.

Fiddelford’s smile grew for a moment, before his expression changed to one Stan hadn’t seen before: determination.    


“Stanford, let’s leave this place and that wretched portal. Let’s put it all behind us and escape while we still can.”    


“Whoa, whoa, take it easy. You’re talking crazy. I can’t leave. I have work to do.”    


Stan instantly regretted his choice of words as Fiddleford visibly stiffened, staring daggers.    


_ “Don’t  _ call me crazy,” he spat through gritted teeth. “All I’m tryin’ ta do is protect you, Stanford, can’t you see that?”   


“Hey, it’s ok—”   


“No, it’s  _ not  _ ok!” Fiddleford almost yelled. “Do you know how many nights I’ve stayed up, unable to escape thoughts of that terrible eye, always watching, watching. I’m  _ tired  _ of it, Stanford! And it’s all thanks to you!”    


Stan was alarmed to see tears streaming down his face, and instinctively reached out his hand to try to console him. The man’s eyes darted to his hand, and Stan hurriedly shoved it back in his pocket before he could count his fingers.

"Crazy was the wrong word. But, uh, you know me, Fiddleford. Can't leave in the middle of my work."   


"No, of course not," Fiddleford spat.    


"It...it's important work," Stan defended weakly.   


"Damn it, Stanford, it's a one-way ticket to the apocalypse! I know you've always been obtuse, but even you can see how things just ain't right. The things happening in this basement. That eye's everywhere. It's watching, but we could outrun it! Dismantle the portal, and then he won't be able to come through." Fiddleford's voice cracked. "Please, Stanford. I love you."

“I...I...”    


For once, Stan didn’t know what to say. As much as he wanted to help Fiddleford, he didn’t have a choice. He stared down at the pleading man before him, and knew he wasn’t lying about loving his brother. And now Stan had to break his heart.    


“I think you should leave.”

Fiddleford's face morphed into such a piteous expression that Stan felt strangled by guilt. He glanced away and waited for the other man to leave.    


"Y-you don't understand what you're doing, Stanford."   


"I know exactly what I'm doing. Sounds like the rain died down. You should go before it picks up again."   


Fiddleford looked like he wanted to say more, but all he did was let out a sigh of defeat and slunk out the door. He cast one more backwards glance; those sad eyes bore into Stan. Then he closed the door, leaving Stan alone again.

Part of Stan wanted to run out after Fiddleford and explain to him that he wasn’t his brother, and that he needed help getting him back. Another part of Stan knew that he could not do or say any of that, so he stayed behind, staring at the spot where he stood.    


A timer beeped in the kitchen, signaling that his potatoes were done boiling and startling Stan. He hurried to the kitchen, grateful for a simple task to put his energy into. As he strained and mashed the potatoes, he couldn’t help but mull over the unexpected conversation he’d had with Fiddleford.    


Fiddleford and his brother had obviously been close, a thought that caused Stan a suddenly twinge of jealousy. What did he know about Stanford that he didn’t? And what about the portal? His head was filled with so many more unanswered questions, he almost regretted kicking the guy out before getting more information out of him.

His only solace was the stray thought that at least Stan wasn't the only one with relationship troubles.

He started laughing and couldn't stop. Stan doubled over, potatoes abandoned as he tried and failed to calm down. There were tears pooling in the corners of his eyes so he pressed the heels of his hands against them. It didn't do much to help.

By the time Stan got himself under control his potatoes had cooled off. He finished mashing them, ruminating on the evening he'd had so far. If there was another knock at his door, he decided, he wouldn't even both answering.

Stan sat down at the table, picking at his food halfheartedly. He couldn't stop his mind from fixating on the things that Fiddleford had said. Watching eyes, the apocalypse. Not for the first time Stan wondered just what the hell his brother had gotten himself into.

A creeping sensation crawled up Stan’s spine, and he had the sudden feeling he was being watched. He jerked his head around, staring at his distorted reflection in the window. It occurred to him that maybe Rick never actually left, maybe he was prowling around outside, watching his every move. Stan wouldn’t put it past him.

Spooked, he left his food uneaten at the table and hurried out of the kitchen. Stan made a beeline for the door that led to the stairs, welcoming the solace of the windowless underground study.

The cavernous room that held the portal was dark, hiding the portal from his sight.

Stan cautiously approached the room, flipping the switch for the lights and illuminating the machine. The gaping hole in the center that had always seemed like a mouth waiting to swallow him up suddenly felt like an eye, watching his every movement. Fiddleford's words echoed in the back of his mind:  _ unable to escape that terrible eye, always watching, watching….  _ A shiver ran up Stan's spine and he hurried back into the study, shutting off the light once more.

_ What were you up to, Stanford? _ he wondered.

Stan had never been more afraid of the answer.

He shook that thought away. He shook the whole confrontation with Fiddleford away. Right now he had to focus on the portal. Whatever those two had been doing, whatever force they had been messing with, it wasn't relative to his goal.

But what if it was? What if the single eyed creature Fiddleford was so terrified of was watching him?

It had never occurred to him that this machine his brother had built could be some sort of  _ doomsday  _ device. Stanford would never do such a thing...would he? No. Stan refused to accept that, refused to even consider that possibility. Whatever had happened between Ford and Fiddleford was just some giant misunderstanding. And Stanford disappearing into the portal had just been a terrible, terrible accident. One that Stan had no choice but to fix. The only way to do that was to get that machine up and running again, if it was the last thing he'd do.

Of course, a nagging little voice in the back of his mind pointed out, Stanford had always had a knack for getting himself into trouble. He'd gotten caught up in his search for knowledge before, when they were kids, that had gotten him into tight spots. Once he had almost drowned trying to dive after a mermaid. Or the time he had started a small kitchen fire when mixing chemicals.

Could Stanford have unintentionally provoked some beast, or given some terrible thing a window into their world? Stan had seen a lot of strange things even before coming to Gravity Falls. The multiverse was vast—and terrifying.

Not for the first time, Stan had the sinking feeling that he was in way over his head. Even if he  _ did  _ somehow manage to fix the portal, who knew what would be waiting on the other side? For all he knew, Stanford could be...he shuddered thinking about what could be happening to Stanford with every moment wasted.

He plopped himself down on the desk chair and pulled Stanford’s journal towards him, flipping it open for what felt like the millionth time. He had read the thing from cover to cover, and still had made little progress in repairing the portal. He was missing a lot of information. His search for the other journals had been futile so far; he was sure they were somewhere in that strange forest.

Stan needed to find them. There was little hope of him accomplishing anything if he didn't find the other journals. And a little hope is what he needed right then.

His mind trailed back to Fiddleford, and then farther back to Rick. Stan shuddered. No way he was going out in the forest until tomorrow. The last thing he wanted was to run into them again, or anyone else for that matter since today was apparently everyone-harass-Stan day.

So in the morning Stan went into the forest, glad it was late in the season and he could close up the Mystery Shack until spring. He just wished Oregon was a little warmer in the fall.

Stan didn't have many clues on where to start searching. Zero clues, actually. Stan had no idea where Stanford could have hidden the journals. He had a vague plan of just wandering the forest, marking down where he'd been, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Er, out of the ordinary for Gravity Falls, anyway. Anywhere a paranoid super genius might hide a journal.

Though the sky was overcast, the rain from the day before had thankfully stopped. Stan trudged through the muddy ground, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that looked remotely out of place among the sea of tree trunks and greenery. Try as he might to relax and enjoy the scenery, Stan was on edge. Stanford's journal warned of the dangers that lurked in the forest: gnomes, fairies, unicorns, and much more. It was like something out of a fairytale. But Stan knew better; he had learned quickly not to trust any strange creature right off the back, no matter how cute or harmless it looked.

Stan had been making his way through the forest for less than half an hour, when he heard the noise: a loud rattling right behind him. He spun around, panicked, eyes darting around frantically in search for the source of the sound, but saw nothing. Spooked, he picked up his pace, delving deeper into the woods. A few moments later he thought he heard it again, further away. He jerked his head around his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed, but did not break his pace. After a few heart pounding moments, the noises eventually stopped, and Stan carefully continued on.

After several more minutes of walking, he heard the loud  _ snap  _ of a branch being broken in half. The bushes and trees ahead of him rustled. Stanley stopped in his tracks. 

In his pocket were his trusty brass knuckles. A gift, from Rick. He snaked a hand around them, the familiar weight calming. He knew he could slip them on in one swift movement and take a swing at whatever came for him.

What came for him was not what he was expecting.

"Holy moses!"

It came out from between the trees, stopping right in front of him. The creature was a good few feet taller than him, which made sense for a bear. What didn't make sense was the fact it had several different heads poking out from its body.

Stan stared up at it in shock. The creature looked back with every set of eyes it had. Stan took a deep breath.

"Nope."

Without another word, Stan turned on heels and made to bolt out of there without question. He would have, too, if it weren't for the word that left one of the creature's mouths:

"Stanford?"

Stan stopped, surprised.

"You knew my brother?" he asked in response, unable to stop himself.

"Brother? There's  _ two  _ of you? How strange."

"Huh, speak for yourself."

"Well if you're not Stanford, where is he? I haven't seen him around and he still has that record I lent him. I'd like it back."

Stan's eyebrows shot up his forehead. He wouldn't have guessed Stanford and this creature shared the same taste in music.

"Well unless I can find it in that mess of a study he left, you ain't getting it back anytime soon. Sorry, pal."

"Left? Where has he gone?"

Stan breathed sharply, replying, "Lab accident. He'll be back, I just need to find something." Suddenly his eyebrows show up. "Wait a minute, you two swapped things, right? Did he have you hold onto a journal? Sort of burgundy with a six fingered hand on the front? Full of weird things like, well, you?"

Several of the creature's heads shook.

"I'm sorry, he did not."

Stan groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead and running it down his face. Back to square one. Also known as square absolutely fucked.

"Would you like to come back to my home?" the bear offered. "Perhaps I can be of some help."

"Sure, why not? I've done worse with weirder creatures. No offense."

"Oh, none taken. You humans are quite bizarre to my kind."

"Eh, we're pretty bizarre to each other."

The creature chuckled, a deep, raspy noise. He motioned for Stan to follow him as he turned tail and starting making his way down a well-beaten path. Stan walked behind cautiously, still unsure if he could completely trust this creature.

"I am the Multibear," he said after a few moments of silence. "What do they call you?"

"Uh, Stanley. I'm Stanford's twin."

"Stanley and Stanford? Your parents must have had quite the sense of humor."

Stan couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess you could say that. We ended up being so different it was pretty easy to tell us apart. At least, it  _ used  _ to be. Not so much anymore, apparently," he added bitterly, thinking of how easily their parents had believed he was Stanford the last time he spoke to them over the phone. 

"You had me fooled. Stanford never mentioned he had a brother."

Stan didn't realize that his feet had stopped moving until he saw that the Multibear was yards in front of him. He picked up the pace, trying to ignore the fact that Ford never mentioned him to this creature. Who else had Stanford kept him a secret from?  _ Looks like he was too ashamed to tell anyone about you, _ that nasty little voice nagged in the back of his mind. 

"Ah, well, ha. You know Stanford. Gets caught up with research and experiments and everything. He forgot he was a person that needed food to survive, you know? Must of just slipped his mind to mention me."

The Multibear made a sound that indicated he didn't quite buy Stan's reasoning, but wasn't going to call him out on it. Stan respected the guy for that.

The conversation paused until they reached a cave and Multibear ushered him in. The place was nice, for what it was. Kept the cold wind out. It was also pretty spacious. Which, Stan supposed, was a necessity when you were a hulking multi-headed bear.

"Ya got a real nice place out here," Stan commented.

"Keeps me warm at night and dry during the rain," Multibear agreed. "Doesn't keep those damn Manotaurs away, though. Always coming up to bother me. When will they learn? Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate?"

"Uh, I'm fine," Stan said uncertainly.

"Suit yourself, more for me. Feel free to take a seat."

Stan settled down on a wooden chair that was covered in gnaw marks. The Multibear busied himself at the far end of the cave, returning with a steaming cup of tea after a few minutes of rustling around.

"Your brother is a genius," he rumbled, plopping himself down on a worn armchair.  "He made me this marvelous kettle that heats water almost instantly."

"Yeah, sure is," Stan said wistfully. He shook his head. "Even with that big brain, he still didn't have a lick of common sense."

The Multibear chuckled. "Not many who have one have the other."

Stan couldn't hold back his derisive snort. "Some of us don't even get one of those."

Multibear raised quirked his brow, or at least as much as a bear could. Stan shifted under the look Multibear was leveling at him.

"We each have our own special attributes," he finally said, almost as though prompting Stan to list off his.

In his own way he did, by saying nothing.

Multibear sipped his drink patiently. Stan glanced everywhere but any of his companion's heads. Bitterly he wondered how close the bear had gotten to Stanford, how many secrets and inner thoughts he'd revealed to this creature he'd met in the woods as opposed to his own twin.

"So...about that journal," Stan finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Do you have any clue where it might be?"

The Multibear took a long drink of his tea, finishing it off, before placing the cup and saucer down on a small table next to him.

"I saw Stanford carrying a journal matching your description many times. It was clearly very important to him. I can't imagine him leaving it just anywhere. Have you checked his secret bunker?"

"Secret bunker? What are you talking about?"

"Well it's pretty self-explanatory. He has a bunker. And it's a secret."

"No, I mean, where is it?"

"That, I don't know. It is a secret."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. There was the beginning of a headache coming on.

"Right, secret bunker. Got it. I'll keep my eyes peeled, I guess. Anywhere else you can think?"

"I cannot think of many other secure locations, I'm afraid. Perhaps somewhere in town?"

"What, like he buried it in a schoolyard or something? Ford woulda had to be really far gone to think that was a good idea."

“Hm. Perhaps you're right. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"Nah, this is great. I know my bro has a secret bunker out in the woods somewhere now. Yeesh, that makes him sound really paranoid, huh?"

"He is a man of extremes."

Stan laughed. He threw an arm over the back of the chair and tilted it onto its back legs, getting comfortable.

"You know, I think you're the sanest thing in this wacky place. And I don't know if I mean just the forest or all of Gravity Falls."

Multibear let out a booming laugh.

"Now,  _ that's  _ something we can agree on. Are you sure I can't get you anything to drink?"

"Nah, I don't think you got anything strong enough," Stan joked. A memory of Rick telling a group of aliens almost the exact same words flashed across his mind, and Stan blanched for a second.

"Try me," Multibear replied. If he noticed the look that had crossed Stan's face, he said nothing, but instead offered him a smile full of sharp teeth. "I've got some scotch that's been ageing for near 50 years."

Stan let out a low whistle.

"Hot damn. Maybe you do got something for me after all."

They talked for a little while longer, all amiable and light; the Multibear didn't try to push any more awkward questions about Stanford, and Stan's respect for him only grew. He also got extra points for his taste in booze. Man knew his alcohols. Er, bear.

 

Over the next few weeks he kept visiting Multibear in between his searches for this secret bunker and the rest of Stanford's journals. He'd start in the morning, choose an area to investigate, and spend hours combing through the forest for anything. Then, when the sun was lowering in the sky and his stomach screamed for food, he'd trudge back to the shack and mark off another chunk that yielded no results.

At first he was filled with a renewed hope, but as the days went by, then weeks, then nearly a month that familiar pit of dread took seed once more in his chest.

Stan was at his wits end. Searching the forest was no easy feat. Hiking through the thick trees was hard enough without having to constantly look over his shoulder and make sure he wasn’t being followed by some terrifying creature. And he had had more run-ins with the gnomes than he could count. Even without the monsters, his fruitless search was proving to be stressful enough.    


The only thing keeping Stan together was his nightly talks with the Multibear. Before, he felt like he was going insane with no one to talk to or confide in. He was grateful for Multibear’s company, more grateful than the creature could ever realize. So one night, Stan took a break from his search, taking the time to put together a delicious pot roast to take to his new friend as a form of thanks.

It felt good to cook for someone else again; Stan had a smile on the whole time. The roast filled the whole shack with a mouthwatering, nostalgic scent. Since it was just him he didn't really do anything fancy. Hastily made peanut butter sandwiches instead of lasagna, scrambled egg instead of a full breakfast spread. He cooked just to get by.    


There was a gnome peeking in the window and Stan cheerfully shooed it away as he covered the roast. Then he bundled up against the cool autumn air and made his way to Multibear's home. The bear must have smelled the roast a mile away since he was waiting at the mouth of the cave when Stan got there. Stan couldn't help grinning.   


"Hungry?" he asked, holding the dish up.

“Famished,” Multibear replied with a toothy grin. “Is that a roast I smell? With potatoes? Onions? And carrots?”    


Stan chuckled.    


“You forgot the celery.” 

“Aw, Stanley, you shouldn’t have.”    


“It’s the least I can do for all the hospitality you’ve shown me.”   


The Multibear allowed Stan in the cave, leading him to his dining table. He placed the dish down as the bear fetched some plates and utensils. Stan served the two of them, taking a small plate for himself and leaving the rest for the massive creature.   


“You know, I have a bottle of wine that would compliment this very well. Excuse me.”    


Multibear rummaged through the large cabinet where he stored his alcohol, withdrawing a bottle of red wine. He poured them each a glass and they settled down at the table to dig into their meal.

They were too busy eating for any real conversation other than the Multibear's occasional compliments. Each one left Stan beaming. He didn't even try to hide them; something about Multibear just put him at ease.    


It probably helped that Multibear was the only living soul around there who knew his secret, which twin he really was. It was refreshing not having to put on any sort of front around this guy. To just sit back and be Stan _ ley. _ He had really missed being himself.   


Which was a double edged sword because Stan really did hate himself.   


He wondered how long this reprieve would last before Multibear inevitably got tired of his shit. It always happened, time and time again. It was just something about Stan, some intricate part of who he was at his core that just drove everyone away one way or another. Or pushed them away.  _ Literally. _   


"Stanley, are you alright?" Multibear asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced over to see that his companion had finished eating at some point and was watching him with concern plain on his main face.

“Oh, me? I’m fine. Just, uh, tired,” he said with a forced smile.    


The look he got from Multibear told him he wasn’t buying it.    


“Stanley, we’ve come to a point where I consider you a friend. And I care tremendously for my friends.”    


Stan felt his face grow hot. Before he could respond, Multibear continued:    


“I’ve been watching you these past several weeks. Something is bothering you.” His deep voice grew very soft. “Friends don’t lie, Stanley. What is troubling you?”    


“I, uh, well...”    


Stan didn’t know what to say, and found himself almost squirming under Multibear’s intense gaze.    


“You may feel better if you just talked about it, don’t you think?”

"Eh, I wasn't brought up in a place where we were encouraged to talk about our feelings. Pa was more of the 'don't talk to me' type. Then, well, let's just say talking about things usually leads to shit hitting the fan," Stan replied with what he hoped came off as a nonchalant shrug. He had turned his head to the side in the hopes of getting his emotions back in check.   


"I promise to listen to whatever you want to tell me," Multibear said gently.    


Stan gulped, chancing a glance back up at his companion. There was such an understanding look on his face, so open and honest and it did something to Stan. Before he could stop himself he was spewing out something he had learned to keep close to his chest: the truth.

Stan didn’t know how long he droned on and on, it could have been hours. He told Multibear everything, no holding back: Rick and his substance abuse and lies; their relationship, how much he still missed him; Stanford, the accident with the portal; his struggle to fix the damn thing to bring Stanford back before it was too late.     


Multibear listened with no interruptions, nodding sagely every now and then. Before Stan realized it, he was going in circles, tears streaming down his face as he went back and forth between how much he missed both Ford and Rick, and how guilty he was for pushing both of them out of his life.    


The bear continued to listen patiently, reaching out a paw to pat Stan heavily on the back when his words eventually dissolved into incomprehensible sobbing.

All that traveling down memory lane left Stan raw, but damn it all if he didn't feel better sharing his burdens with someone else. When was the last time he had really confided in anyone? And even further back, the last time he had confided in someone and not had it thrown back in his face?   


For a good long while, at least it felt like it, they stayed like that. Multibear comforted Stan until he had taken care of a lifetime of crying. At the end of it all Stan was a mess of tears and snot and he knew it. Always prepared, Multibear brought out some tissues which Stan took gratefully.    


"Thanks. For, uh, listening. Sorry for talking your ear off.   


"No need to apologize, Stanley. I'm just glad you could tell me all that. I'm sorry for all you've been through, but if I could tell you one very important thing?"   


"What's that?" Stan sniffled, cringing as his voice broke.   


"You're a strong man, Stanley. A good one."   


Stan's breath hitched. He felt like crying all over again, but managed to suppress that urge. Instead he mumbled, "Thanks," ducking his head.

Stan glanced at his wristwatch, dismayed by how late it had gotten. The forest was scary enough during the day, but once night fell it became downright dangerous. He needed to get home soon if he wanted to make it there in one piece. He forced himself to stand, clasping one of Multibear's paws in his hand. 

"Thank you so much," he repeated, "for everything. You're a good friend. I better get going." 

"You are welcome, Stanley. My home is always open to you, especially if you bring food," he added with a wink. 

Stan laughed, a genuine sound. 

"I'll keep that in mind. See you around." 

And with that, Stan left, hurrying into the darkened forest.

For all of his unease Stan's steps were light. Multibear had lifted a boulder off his shoulders at least. Maybe even two boulders, heavy monstrosities that had been weighing him down. There was still pain, of course, but now it all seemed much more manageable. That awful seed of despair's growth had been stunted.

He sort of felt like whistling, but didn't want to attract anything. So instead he made his way carefully through the forest back towards the shack. 

After a while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Stan was being watched.

He quickened his pace and hoped it was just gnomes. Or maybe one of those living campfire things. They were cute and pretty harmless. Like puppies made of wood and fire.    
  
But he didn't see any flames, and couldn't hear any of the telltale signs of gnomes trailing after him. They usually didn't wait long before trying to ambush him. No, this was something different.

Stan didn't give any sign that he knew he was being followed, but kept his quickened pace. He mentally kicked himself for taking his usual way back; it was predictable. So instead of continuing forward, he took a sharp turn the to the right, hoping to throw whatever was stalking him off. He slipped quickly through a dense patch of trees, weaving in and out in a zigzag pattern.    


All at once Stan realized how uncharacteristically silent the forest had fallen. Usually filled with the soft sound of crickets or owls hooting in the night, Stan felt like he could hear a pin drop from a mile away. The moonlight shining through the trees suddenly died away, leaving Stan in complete darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, but he didn't stop moving.    


There was a slithering sound to his left, like the tail of some huge lizard trailing along the forest floor. Stan gulped, veering to his right. The sound was there, too, louder this time.    


Stan broke into a run.

As fast as he went, his pursuer matched his speed. That slithering followed closely, growing louder and louder until it consumed the quiet completely.    


The thing about running in a forest was that, simply, it was not an easy thing to do. There were trees and their roots, fallen branches and sticks, different plants that got in the way or pulled at clothing. Topped of with the lack of visibility, and it was no surprise when Stan tripped, only surprise that it had taken as long as it had.   


His shoulder slammed against a rock, the pain shooting through his arm and into his chest. He had no time to focus on that—the slithering suddenly stopped.

Stan scrabbled to his feet, trying to run forward, only to have what felt like a vine catch around his ankle. He fell back down, chin banging hard on the ground and forcing his teeth to clatter together painfully. He yanked his foot in an attempt to get upright, but something tugged back. What he thought was a vine wrapped around his ankle and began to travel up his leg, squeezing tight. 

A scream was strangled in Stan's throat as he was pulled back along the forest floor, hands frantically clawing at the ground to find something to hold on to. His efforts were useless and he was suddenly being hoisted into the air. As he dangled upside down he found his voice, wailing in terror as he tried to get a view of what had a hold of him. 

He could now see that the "vine" was actually a tentacle, one of many, as others loomed from the darkness to wrap around his other limbs.

They forced his limbs out into different awkward directions. It wasn't enough to damage the appendages, but it did effectively make any struggling a painful affair. Then a fifth tentacle snaked around his torso; a sixth ran over his throat but thankfully didn't take hold.    


A shadow stepped forward. And it really did seem like just a free moving shadow, its whole, long body just a dark mass. It was faceless, yet Stan could tell it was staring right at him. Stan couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him.    


Its arms were spindly and it was impossibly tall. Seven feet at the very least. Its legs seemed just as long, though they were mostly covered by the plethora of tentacles growing out of them. Stan gulped as it took another step towards him.

It's blank face wore no expression, but Stan could tell it was  _ hungry. _ The tentacles tightened around him, constricting around his chest and making it difficult for Stan to breathe. One arm reached out, long fingers that ended with claws extending out to scratch at his face. Stan couldn't help the yelp of fear that fell from his mouth as he tried to balk away from it's touch.    


Unable to move, he was forced to endure as the creature raked it's claws across his face, drawing blood. It made no sound but Stan could tell it was amused as he squirmed against its vice-like grip.

He watched in horror as the thing drew it's arm back, bringing it's hand to it's face. It considered for a moment, and Stan thought he could hear it sniffing deeply. Then all at once, the featureless face ripped open into a gaping void, revealing rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. A long, slimy tongue darted out, lapping the blood that was dripping from its claws. Stan's own jaw dropped, his scream of pure terror echoing through the forest.

In a grotesquely delicate manner the creature put a finger to Stan's lips. His screams choked off, and Stan gulped hard. The creature's mouth twisted upwards into a pleased smile.

An image of Ma appeared in his mind and he felt guilty for making her lose another son.

Its tongue darted out. Stan recoiled as the slimy appendage licked at the blood on his face, but those tendrils held him still and the beast continued its tasting. Stan marveled at how long the tongue was, a dark pointed tendril that was easily a foot out of that gaping maw.

Desperately Stan wished he could come up with a quip, lighten the situation with a bit of humor like he usually did. But he had nothing, because he knew he wouldn't make it out of there this time.

Stan had just about accepted his fate, and was just praying that it happened quickly, with as little pain possible. The creature drew it's tongue back, and reared it's head back. It's sick smile widened, jaw unhinging into a gaping maw full of teeth, wide enough to swallow Stan whole. As much as he wanted to shut his eyes, Stan couldn't look away, gazing in horror at the monster before him.

This was it. Stan was going to die. He thought of Ford. He would never get to save him. He thought of Rick. There were so many words left unsaid.

Then a new sound erupted through the forest. His captor jerked its head to the side where it seemed like something was rampaging towards them. Sure enough there was.

With a roar unlike anything Stan had heard from his friend before, Multibear crashed through the trees. The creature holding him made a high pitched hiss in retaliation.

Several tentacles jerked Stan behind the creature, still keeping a tight grip on him. The creature itself faced Multibear, its mouth still wide open baring its terrifying too-long mouth. Tentacles whipped around it.

Multibear roared again, a wordless warning. He stood to his full, imposing height. The creature didn't shrink back.

Multibear charged at the creature, all of its mouths open and releasing the most thundering roar yet. Tentacles darted through the air, trying to stave off the Multibear. Everywhere it tried to grab, tentacles met a mouth full of teeth and the thing was unable to ward off his attack.

Multibear slammed into the monster, knocking it off it's feet. Stan flew through the air, landing on the ground with a hard  _ thud. _ The tentacles' grip around his limbs slackened, and Stan took the opportunity to frantically squirm his way free. He jumped to his feet and turned to see the Multibear clawing at the downed monster. Each of his heads was in action, roaring or biting any bit of the creature he could reach.

Tentacles reached around him, and before Stan could yell out a warning they were clamping around Multibear's midsection and tugging him back. His assailant, dripping with an inky black substance, staggered up. As its tentacles clenched around Multibear the monster swiped at the lesser heads.

Stan lamented his lack of weapons as his head swiveled from side to side looking for anything he could use. The one time he didn't bring along his brass knuckles and of course something like this happens. It wasn't hopeless, however; forests were full of deadly things if they fell into the right hands.

Nearby was a good sized rock sticking out of the ground and he lunged for it. Stan clawed around its base until he could rip it out of the dirt. Now armed, he turned back to the battle.

The monster was trying to press its claws into one of the lesser head's eyes. Its second hand had grabbed a clump of fur on a separate head and was yanking it around, disorientating it. More tentacles were holding Multibear's arms and he thrashed against his bonds.

Stan raced at the monster, rock raised high. He jumped, and brought it down with all his might against the creature's head. There was a sickening crack.

The monster let out a blood-curdling wail that echoed throughout the forest. The tentacles vibrated and released their hold of Multibear, recoiling back into the creature's body. It's entire body shook in a violent spasm, still emitting an earsplitting screech that only grew louder and louder. The rock dropped heavily to the ground as Stan faltered back, afraid the monster would turn its attention to him again.

The creature's dark body seized up, suddenly becoming very rigid and still. Then all at once, it's body seemed to disappear into nothingness, becoming an empty shadow that melted away into the gloom of the forest.

As the creature disappeared, the forest suddenly came to life around them. Stan could hear the soft babbling of a stream in the distance, and moonlight streamed through tree branches. His eyes landed on Multibear, who was lying in the same spot, completely still.

"Multibear!"

He was at his friend's side in an instant. All of his eyes were closed, and there was so much blood soaking his fur. Stan didn't know where a pulse would be on a regular bear, let alone someone like Mulitbear. Looking close, at least, he could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Multibear was still breathing.

"Can you hear me, big guy? Don't leave me now, okay? I gotta repay you for saving my ass. I'm thinking steak next time, how's that sound?"

No response came and Stan swallowed around his fear. He started checking for injuries. If he got Multibear to the shack he could properly treat him, but he didn't want to move his prone friend without making sure he wouldn't be exasperating any life threatening injuries.

Before Stan could make a decision, the ground began to rumble. A thunderous sound approached, and Stan sprang to his feet. He scrabbled to grab the rock he had used against the monster, hoisting it in his hands and preparing to strike. Just as the sound became deafening, Stan could see what was making the noise as the herd of strangers came into view.

It took a moment for Stan to make sense out of what he was looking at. They weren't quite men, but they weren't quite bulls either. Suddenly he could hear Ford's voice from their childhood echoing in the back of his head, droning on about ancient Greek myths and legends.

"Go on, nothing to see here!" he yelled at the bunch, praying they would move along. He could easily count at least ten of them, muscles bulging and flexing. There was no way he could fight them off on his own.   


"What is this?" one of them practically screamed, voice the perfect octave to make Stan feel like his eardrums were about to burst. 

"Someone has killed the only enemy we have more hate for than leg warmers?"

"He's not dead, and he's not going to die," Stan snapped. Then, "And what's wrong with leg warmers?"

"They are unmanly and totally for nerd losers!"

"You're those guys Multibear has a problem with, right? Yeesh, I can see why you all don't get along." Stan turned back to his friend, grimacing. "I don't have time for this. I need to get him bandaged up."

"Did you fight valiantly side-by-side?" the same creature asked. His voice still boomed, and Stan figured he only had that one volume setting.

"Yeah, and he saved my ass. I'm kinda busy here, pal."

The creature roared and told him, "You seem to be a real man, human! I am Chutzpar. My Manotaur brothers and me will help you care for our hated enemy."

"What, really? Why?"

"Because no one harms our enemies but us! That's just the bro code!"

The other Manotaurs all roared in agreement. Stan set his puzzlement aside and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Without another word, but rather more manly bellows and grunts, the Manotaurs set to work. A group of them accompanied Stan back to the Shack to pick up medical supplies. They must have been very respected—or feared—among the inhabitants of the forest, as no other creatures crossed their paths during their trek. When they returned with a first aide kit, the rest of the herd had created a makeshift stretcher from branches and what looked like some of their own loincloths. Stan spotted a few nude Manotaurs running around and knew that he was correct. The Multibear lay where Stan left him, still breathing shallowly.

Stan wasted no time, sprinting to his friend's side and opening his kit. He started by cleaning the wounds as fast as he could. One Manotaur kneeled next to him, wordlessly following Stan's instructions and helping to tie tourniquets where necessary to help stop the bleeding. Stan had only ever sutured Rick when needed, but he hoped he possessed enough skills to save his friend. Choosing the thickest thread he had, he set to work, slowly stitching the Multibear's wounds together one at a time. His work was clumsy, but after untying the tourniquets, the sutures held.   


With a sigh of relief Stan gave Multibear a once over for any other injuries that needed immediate attention. There were a few shallow scratches he slapped some bandages on, but didn't seem to be anything else he could treat. Stan hoped there wasn't internal bleeding or anything else or his friend was screwed. It wasn't like he could just take Multibear to the hospital, as hilarious as the ensuing chaos might be.

Stan closed his kit and stood up, instructing the Manotaurs to lift the stretcher. They did, then followed as Stan led them back to the shack. He was feeling more confident now that his friend would be fine. Sore, definitely, but fine.

It wasn't an easy fit, but eventually the bulky Manotaurs managed to squeeze through the front door. Stan took them to Ford's room and had them gently place Multibear on the bed. His breathing had evened out, and Stan let himself smile.

Exhausted, he walked the herd of Manotaurs out of the shack, after giving them each a beer as thanks for their help. He walked with them to the edge of the forest, gratefully guzzling down his own brew.   


"Thank you guys," he said gratefully. "For all your help. I'll never forget this."   


Chutzpar grasped Stan's forearm tightly, pulling him into a sort of hug.   


"You are welcome, friend of Multibear. Take care of our enemy."   


And with that, the herd galloped away into the darkness of the forest, bellowing a war cry.

Man, those guys were weird. Not awful, though. But definitely weird.

Chuckling to himself, Stan went back inside. Multibear was still unconscious, but he looked almost peaceful. Even his lower heads seemed at ease. It was a stark contrast from just a few hours ago.

Stan plopped down in a chair next to the bed and kept a watch on Multibear through the night. Every now and then he dozed off, always jerking awake and never falling into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Multibear still hadn't awoken. Stan was half worried he'd slipped into a comatose state. Part of him wanted to try to wake his friend, but he knew that he needed his rest. He also needed plenty of food and water ready for when he did wake up. So Stan went down to the kitchen, busying himself with preparing a get-well meal for Multibear. As he whipped together half a dozen eggs, Stan decided he much preferred cooking for others than for himself. He poured the eggs into a pan to let them cook, before frying some thick cuts of bacon on a skillet.

He was just about to flip the bacon when he heard a loud roar from upstairs. His face lit up, and he ran up to Ford's room after turning the burners off on the stove. Multibear was sitting up in bed, looking tired, but at least he was awake. Stan almost hugged him, but he didn't want to exacerbate any of his wounds.

"Multi, you're awake! How are you holding up?" Stan asked, concerned.

"Stanley, am I to assume we're in your home?" Stan nodded. "I'm amazed you were able to bring me here on your own."

"I had some unlikely help," Stan admitted, then told Multibear what had happened. He'd never seen his friend look so shocked.

"I suppose there's hope for those testosterone ridden neanderthals yet," he mused.

"Heh, yeah. So, how do you feel? You looked like hell after that thing evaporated or whatever."

"I feel like hell. I don't imagine I'd have woken up if not for your care. Thank you, my friend."

Stan's face heated up and he ducked shyly. "No problem. 'S the least I coulda done. So, you feeling up to breakfast?"

Multibear offered Stan a weak smile.

"You're too kind to me, Stanley."

"What are friends for?" Stan replied with a grin.

He hurried back downstairs to check on the food. The eggs were still warm, scrambled and cooked into fluffy little clouds, bacon crisped to perfection. He served the food onto a plate and filled a pitcher with water, setting them both on a tray. Laden with food and drink, Stan made his way back upstairs. Multibear was where he left him, faces lighting up as he walked through the door.

"It ain't much, but it's what I got," Stan said sheepishly, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

"Your hospitality is more than enough. Thank you, friend."

Stan waved him off. For a bit he watched his friend ravenously eat, glad Multibear had woken up at all. While he was unconscious Stan had tried not to think about that terrifying monstrosity that had attacked him, but it haunted his nightmares. This forest was a supernatural death trap just laying in wait for unsuspecting schmucks like he had been.

"Hey," Stan spoke up after a few minutes, and his friend paused to consider him. "Thanks for coming to my rescue. I appreciate it."

"Of course, Stanley. What are friends for?"

Multibear smiled at him, and there was a warmth in Stan's chest he hadn't felt in a long while. He really had been starved for a friend.

"You're a good friend, Multi. I'm glad I ran into you." He offered the bear a small smile, patting him gently on the paw.  

"I feel very much the same, Stanley."

"Well, I better try to get some sleep," Stan sighed, standing to stretch. "You can stay as long as you need. Holler if you need anything."

"I should rest as well. I can not thank you enough, my friend."

"Aw, don't worry about it. Sleep well."

And with that, Stan left Multibear to his own devices. He stopped at the kitchen, considering grabbing himself something to eat. Stomach in knots, he decided against it. He had no appetite. Instead of heading for the study, Stan settled for the couch; he wanted to be near in case Multibear needed him. Besides, he was in no state to try to work on the portal.

Stan threw himself on the couch, covering himself with a blanket. He shut his eyes, waiting for sleep to come. Bad idea. He couldn't stop seeing that horrible creature, those glistening teeth, those constricting tentacles. Stan shuddered, wrapping the blanket around himself tightly. How could he have been so stupid? He needed to be more vigilant. He suddenly thought of the crossbow Stanford had nearly attacked him with the night of the accident. Maybe carrying that thing around wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Stan actually got up and found where he'd tucked it away, bringing it back to the couch with him. He slept more soundly after that.

Multibear stuck around a few more days. Stan spent most of his time caring for his friend, which mostly entailed just talking. He even put on a few records, though Stanford didn't have much of a selection laying around; being a genius didn't mean he had a good taste in music.

Truth be told it was nice to have him around, as selfish as that was. With someone else there who wasn't just a tourist the shack felt alive. Felt more like a home rather than four walls hiding secrets.

But eventually Multibear recovered and returned to his own home. Stan tried not to let the disappointment show on his face as he walked his friend back. After all, he'd still go over and visit. Besides, Stan had work to get back to.

Days passed, and Stan eventually found the courage to venture back into the forest to look for the other journals. He had learned not to go unprotected, and definitely not to wander around alone at night. Try as he might, he had no luck in his search.

Days turned in weeks, week became months, and eventually years passed and Stan was still not able to find those missing journals. But he stayed in Gravity Falls, determined to do anything he needed to save Stanford. When he wasn't running the Mystery Shack, he was in the study, slowly learning more and more about the portal. Progress didn't come quickly, but it did come eventually.

He never forgot his conversation with Fiddleford, his ominous warnings of death and destruction. Fiddleford had come back to try to talk to him a few more times; Stan didn't give him the chance. Eventually he stopped coming by altogether. It was better that way.

Stan was so busy with everything going on in his life, he almost forgot about Rick. Almost. But he could never fully escape the memories—good and bad—that they had shared. Stan was always wary when there was a knock at his door, half expecting Rick to come barging in. Some days, a small part of him actually  _ hoped _ it was Rick.    


But it never was.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The manotaurs are a joy to write for.-Fox 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed our longest chapter to date!-Lynz


	16. Ricktox, Ricklapse, and Rickpeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, bad ideas with bad executions, and a good best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mini hiatus, enjoy the update! -Lynz

The eyes never blinked. They could easily be mistaken as disturbing wall decor except that _they moved_. No matter which way in the room he'd go—pacing from one end to the other, sliding off the bed, burying himself under blankets—the dark pupils followed.

Rick's mouth was dry. His throat was scratchy and when he called out shakily for Bird Person there were shards of glass and bits of gravel that choked the sound. Literally. It fell from his mouth into his lap, blood coating his sweat soaked clothes and taut skin.

The eyes watched him wipe at his face furiously. Anger bubbled inside of Rick and he opened his mouth to scream at them. All that happened was more blood, more pain.

The eyes narrowed in what could only have been pure glee at his suffering, and the distant sound of shrill, hysterical laughter steadily began to grow louder and louder. Soon the room was filled with the horrible sound, echoing and bouncing off of the four walls.

Rick grabbed a dingy pillow from the bed and covered his ears, trying to block out the laughter to no avail. His own eyes darted around the room to find the source, to _end_ the madness, but he was all alone, save for the ever-watching horrors embedded in the walls.

It was not long before the sound grew to an unbearable loudness, vibrating down to Rick’s very core and shaking the walls. Rick tried to scream again, an impossible amount of blood flowing out of his mouth, and then his nose, quickly forming a dark puddle around him.

Maddened and desperate to escape the terrible place, he tossed the pillow and lurched to the nearest wall, drawing back his fist. The largest eye glared at him as his hand flew through the air with all the force he could muster. Suddenly the atmosphere thickened, and it was like trying to punch through a wall of jelly. His fist eventually made contact, sinking slowly into the center of the eye’s pupil. The laughter abruptly stopped, and eye snapped shut around his wrist, the others following suit.

For a moment, all was quiet.

Rick tried to pull his fist back, to find that it was stuck. Panicked, he jerked his arm, and the eye suddenly opened itself wide, bloodshot and staring directly at Rick. He gulped as the rest of the eyes shot open one by one, until they were eventually all fixing him with the same murderous glare.

He reflexively screamed as he wrenched his arm back, still stuck, more blood dripping from his mouth and spraying the walls. As he struggled to remove his fist from the eye, it also began to bleed, an almost black substance leaking down the wall. The other eyes did the same, blood raining down in torrents and beginning to quickly fill the room.

For a moment he was frozen as the sea of blood rose. All he could do was stare in horror, the eyes likewise staring at him with some emotion he couldn't read. Challenge? Glee?

There were more important things to worry about. Namely that the blood went from lapping at his ankles to his waist in what seemed seconds. It sloshed around as it continued to rise.

Something was reaching out of the blood. At first Rick thought it was just the momentum causing rivulets to splash up. It soon became apparent that _there was something in there with him._

A spindly limb broke the surface of the blood sea just inches from Rick's chest. He could do nothing but stare in horror as it reached out with twisted digits towards him. Rick tried to pull back, but with his hand still stuck he couldn't get away.

Fingers that were like fire and ice all at once grazed his cheek and Rick's mouth fell open in a scream. This one wasn't silent. It tore out of his throat and echoed around the room. Rick shut his eyes and screamed until he was hoarse, flailing and trying frantically to rip himself out of the wall.

The laughter returned all at once to drown out his screams, reaching impossible decibels and painfully filling Rick’s ears. Whatever had a hold of him in the wall tightened its grip and began to tug back, slowly pulling the rest of Rick’s arm in until he was flush against the wall.

Rick tried to open his eyes but found that they had somehow been glued shut, and he was unable to see his attacker as that icy-hot hand closed around his throat. His free hand scrabbled at the stick-like fingers, but his efforts proved futile. The hand squeezed playfully, and Rick knew it was toying with him. The ever-rising pool of blood lapped at his chest.

Everything was just too overwhelming. Rick felt it all at once yet couldn't register what was happening anymore. There was pressure all around him, and was he being shaken? It was all _too muc_ h.

Time was impossible to tell; it felt like Rick was stuck in some sick eternal loop. Eventually, though, it all went away. There was no more pressure around him, no more cold-hot touches. His arms hung heavy at his sides. Someone was rubbing his back.

Slowly Rick cracked his eyes open. No traces of blood in the room, no terrifying eyes watching him. He craned his neck to glance up at his friend. Bird Person gingerly pushed back a strand of hair away from his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Rick?"

"Fuck," was all he could manage.

“Is there anything I can get you?” his friend asked gently, concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, a fucking drink,” Rick muttered under his breath.

“We both are aware that I can not give you that. How about a cup of tea? Would that soothe you?”

“Whatever,” Rick grumbled. “I need to take a shit.”

He untangled himself from the blanket and gingerly rose from the bed. Head pounding, he slowly made his way to the bathroom. He locked himself in, grateful to be away from Bird Person’s watchful eyes. Rick stared at himself in the mirror, grimacing at his sunken eyes and protruding cheekbones. His skin was a dull grey color, a contrast against his bloodshot eyes. In short, he looked like hell.

Groaning, he splashed some water on his face, trying to shake off that terrifying dream. He still felt as if he was being watched by those horrible eyes.

"Pull yourself together, Sanchez," he muttered to his reflection. "Y-you've got too much shit to, to do. Can't spend forever being coddled for nightmares."

After a deep breath Rick pulled himself together and went back out. He found Bird Person in the kitchen, busy preparing the promised tea. Honestly Rick didn't care for the drink on most occasions, but Bird Person's people had a few blends that were unlike anything on earth: that was, actually palatable.

For a minute he just leaned against the doorframe watching his friend, arms crossed and mind blissfully blank. Until a stray thought crept into his mind—those goddamned eyes and the creepiness of being watched like that—and a shiver ran down his spine. He bit his tongue to keep himself from letting out a sound.

"What time is it?" Rick asked, taking a seat at the table.

"About four in the morning."

"Sorry for waking you up."

"It is not an issue," Bird Person waved off, which only made Rick feel worse. He didn't reply though as the other man brought over two steaming cups.

“I hope you find this to be comforting,” he said as he handed over the mug.

Rick nodded before taking a deep drink, not for the first time wishing he had some whiskey to spike it with. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the warmth it brought him.

As he drank, Rick couldn’t help but think of Diane and Beth. It had been just a couple of weeks since he’d left them, weeks that felt like months. He was surprised by how much he already missed them, racked with the guilt of having left them alone. He took another long drink. For once, Stan was the last thing on his mind.

Bird Person watched him carefully, looking very much like he wanted to talk but staying silent. Rick was grateful for that. He wasn’t much in the talking mood.

Rick’s eyelids were heavy and he craved more sleep, but he didn’t dare crawl back in bed. The nightmares had started a few days after leaving Diane, and they had only gotten progressively worse each night. His screaming usually woke Bird Person, and they more often than not wound up in this very spot, drinking tea in silence. It was a pattern Rick wanted to break.

A little whisper in the back of his mind told him exactly how he could break this stupid cycle. All he needed was a little pick-me-up, an innocent enough bump. Not enough to fuck him up, just something to take the edge off.

Then the whisper got stronger. Why not take enough that he passed out into a dreamless sleep? Then he could actually get some rest. Make himself feel more like _Rick_ and less like a shambling undead monstrosity barely holding on.

It was a tantalizing notion. Rick caught a faint whiff of the drugs he'd been working on. It was like powdered peppermint and filled his nostrils relentlessly. He held the cup up to his face, trying to drive the smell away. The action was fruitless.

His grip tightened around the mug until his knuckles were white. The phantom smell of drugs was making him sick to his stomach, bringing forth a wave of nausea. He chugged down a few gulps of the tea, bringing the cup down onto the table with too much force. The resulting _bang_ clattered around his still-pounding head, exacerbating the dull ache.

Bird Person’s liquor cabinet was visible from the kitchen, and Rick couldn’t stop his eyes from darting there every few seconds. Light reflected off the glass pane, seeming to wink at him. It was tantalizing, and it took every bit of his self-control to not lunge for it, to not drain every bottle until they were all empty.

Bird Person kept the cabinet padlocked, but Rick knew how to pick a lock. He had resisted the temptation, but he was beginning to get desperate. Not for booze, he told himself, but for sleep. He just needed some good ol’ sleep, a sleep free of horrifying nightmares and those ever-watching eyes. And what better way to fall asleep than to pass out drunk?

The peppermint smell only grew stronger as Rick toyed with the idea of breaking into the liquor cabinet while Bird Person slept. Rick almost wretched, but forced the feeling down and released a burp instead. The bitter taste of bile rose in the back of his throat.

The whispers only grew louder in the back of his mind, making his brain itch. Rick scratched at his head uselessly as though he could reach the pink matter and shut his own thoughts up.

As the time ticked further along those voices actually started making good points, and as his tea grew cold Rick grew resolute.

He knew his friend wouldn't go to bed until he did, so Rick got up from the table declaring himself tired and the tea surprisingly soothing. With a final thanks he went back to his borrowed room and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. His foot wanted to bounce but Rick held it still. Didn't need to alert Bird Person he was still awake. Soon enough he could hear his friend retiring to his own room.

Rick stared at the clock above the door, second hand crawling maddeningly slow. The timing had to be right. Bird Person wasn’t known for being a heavy sleeper, nor did he sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

So Rick waited, arms crossed and feet planted firmly on the ground. His nails dug into the flesh of his arms, if only to stop the trembling of his hands. The shaking instead found its way up his arms and eventually ran down his back, until his entire body was quivering. His muscles tensed reflexively, nails digging deeper and breaking the skin. Rick didn’t notice.

He continued counting the minutes as they passed.

The minutes stretched and felt like hours, and those whispers told Rick he had waited long enough. He carefully rose from the bed, and quietly crept out of his room.

He managed to navigate the dark house easily, having memorized the place since he'd been there. It helped that Bird Person was neat, much neater than he and Stan had ever been. More like Diane who had somehow managed to keep the house in relative order between the tsunamis that were Rick and Beth.

Diane deserved so much.

Rick squelched those thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Right in front of him was his goal: the liquor cabinet. Rick knelt in front of the oasis tempting him from his desert and set to work quietly as he could on the padlock.

He struggled momentarily with the lock, jiggling the tools that Stan had made for him. Stan had always been better at picking locks than he was. If he was here, the cabinet would already be open and they’d be enjoying their spoils. Instead, here he was alone, unable to open the lock.

Rick gave a frustrated sigh and tried to shove those thoughts in a box and burn it. He couldn’t.

Rick wanted nothing more than to just _smash_ the cabinet open, to hell with this lock. His patience had dwindled quickly. The whispers escalated to a dull roar, jeering on those destructive thoughts. He almost caved in to that desire, almost broke through that glass pane with his bare hands, but knew that the probable consequences outweighed the reward.

He took a deep breath, an attempt to calm himself. He recalled the time Stan had taught him how to properly pick a lock. It was then that he had gifted him the homemade lock picks, carefully crafted from paper clips.

Stan’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, somehow overtaking the other whispers:

_Pickin’ a lock is easy as pie. Just gotta focus._

So Rick focused. He shut out the whispers and narrowed in on the padlock and tools in his hand. He ignored the pounding of his head, the dryness of his throat, the urging to finish quickly before Bird Person found him. He took it slow, getting a feel with the tool on the lock's innards. It was an agonizingly drawn-out process, but then _finally_ there was a click.

Triumph flooding him, Rick grinned and hurriedly removed the padlock. Then he threw the cabinet open and basked in the choices before him.

Whiskey. It had to be whiskey.

Rick took out a bottle and wasted no more time in first wetting his whistle, then drowning it. The alcohol blazed through him, like a purposeful fire meant to clear out all the unnecessary and hindering underbrush.

He tried to take another swig from the bottle, only to find that it was already empty. Whoops. He set it in the back of the shelf, hoping Bird Person wouldn’t notice. He was about to close the cabinet when a nearly full bottle of tequila caught his eye. One more drink couldn’t hurt.

Before Rick knew it, he was a halfway through the bottle with no sign of stopping. The light buzz the whiskey had brought him mounted to a pleasantly dizzy bliss, and a dumb smile stretched across his face after taking another swig.

Rick was starting to feel more like himself. He settled down and reveled in the change. Damn, cutting off cold turkey had been the worst decision of his life.

His life, which was full of bad decision after bad decision.

Rick couldn't help ruminating in them. How could he have let himself be consumed like that? Should have been able to handle himself better, instead of fucking everything up. With Stan, with Diane. With that fucking lamp. Hell he couldn't even deal with himself, no matter the iteration.

Rick took a deep drink. He needed to fix things. Not just the lamp, everything. He needed to _focus_. Ruining things with Stan had been bad, and with Diane even worse, because Beth was involved, too. _Fuck_. Rick missed Beth more than he thought he could miss anything. How could he ever explain to her why he left? A wave of shame washed over his mind.

It surprised Rick how much he wanted to go back to them. At the time he was becoming spiteful towards the domestic life they were building together. Now he wish he had never left.

How fucking ironic.

Another drink.

Rick knew he couldn’t go back. He didn’t deserve them. They were too good; he would just ruin them the way he ruined everything else. He gulped past a lump in his throat. But maybe he could give them something better, help them live the good they deserved.

Rick thought of Diane working all those long hours. All that time she could be spending with Beth, gone. It was bullshit. A plan began to form in his fuzzy mind.

What he needed, what _they_ needed, were the proper funds. Kids were expensive. Clothes and toys, then eventually college because his baby girl was a goddamn Sanchez, she had enough brains for goddamn ivy league, even if all colleges were shit institutions.

Rick knew how to get that money. It was simple enough. Where were large amounts of money kept? Banks. What did you do do get all that money? Rob a bank. Simple.

No time like the present. If he was really going to do this, he had to do this now. Filled with determination and a renewed sense of purpose, Rick sprang to his feet too quickly, and the room spun around him. He stumbled, clutching the bottle tightly as he tried to find his bearings.

Unable to gain his balance, Rick only managed to trip on his own feet and tumble back to the ground, hard. He bottle shattered on impact as he instinctively tried using both hands to brace his fall. Pain exploded in his hand, shooting up his arm and instantly sobering him.

It didn't take long for the light to click on and Bird Person to call his name. Rick groaned and told him, "I'm good. This is all a dream. Ooooo."

"It is not a dream, Rick, and I believe you are drunk."

“ _Drinking_ , thank you very much. It takes more than that to get me fuckered."

"I see at least two empty bottles I have no recollection of emptying myself."

Rick groaned again and tossed his stiff arm over his eyes.

“You are bleeding Rick.”

“Am I? Oh well. Th-this is just a dream, remember?”

“We must stop the bleeding.”

Bird Person reaches out to lend a helping hand, but Rick flinched away.

“I-I’m fine,” he insisted. “I got places to be.”

Bird Person leveled him with a stare, but did not try to help him up again. Rick struggled to sit up, and Bird Person sat down on the floor next to him.

“Where do you need to go, Rick?”

"I-it's time for me to stop being a deadbeat dad. Gotta, gotta make sure my kid's taken care of."

"A noble goal."

"Mhm. 'S why I'm gonna rob a bank."

"Rick, may I be frank with you?"

"BP, you're my oldest and best friend. Say whatever's on your mind, buddy."

"You are an insufferable moron."

Rick was about to say how undeserved that was, but then planted his hand right in a shard of glass that pricked his palm.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Come, Rick, let me tend to those wounds. I do not relish getting blood out of my carpet."

Rick grumbled, but let Bird Person help him up and into the bathroom. He didn't fight against his friend when he sat him gently on the closed toilet lid and started fussing over his injuries. Rick closed his eyes against the blood, struck with the memory of his earlier dream. He couldn't suppress a shudder which thankfully went unquestioned.

Bird Person had his small wounds cleaned up and bandaged in no time. Rick tried to offer a sheepish smile, but his face felt heavy.

“Do you think you will be able to sleep?” Bird Person asked as he led Rick back to his room.

“Probably not. But I’ll give it a shot.”

Rick collapsed on the bed, lying spread eagle.

“You need your rest. I will get you some water so you do not wake up hungover in the morning.”

Rick found that smile as his friend left him. At least _someone_ was looking out for him.

* * *

  
The shack seemed on fire, at first, but it must have been a trick of the amber light shining through the window. It was a strange pane, triangular with an oval towards the top spanning from one edge to the other. Rick didn't really have time to muse on it as Stan stepped into the light.

Then there really _was_ a fire.

It roared around Stan, steadily climbing up him. Stan didn't move, staring at the window and completely ignoring the flames consuming him.

Rick lunged forward, the other man's name on his lips, but the sound was strangled before it could properly form. He was frozen, watching in horror as something appeared on the window. A thin black speck in the middle of that oval that grew until Rick could clearly see it for what it was: a pupil.

Someone was screaming and dimly Rick thought it sounded like him, except his mouth wasn't moving and the sound echoed around the shack. He swallowed hard. There was something in his throat that gagged him. Rick fell to his knees as he hacked away, clawing at his neck.

Familiar laughter erupted from somewhere that it took a moment to place. It occurred to him eventually that it was Stan’s. He looked up, betrayal written all over his face as Stan smirked down at him. Flames still ate at his charring skin.

"Not looking too good there, Rikki Tikki Tavi."

Stan reached out, wrapping his hands around Rick’s neck, keeping him on his knees. Rick struggled in his grasp, unable to breathe or speak, tears filling his eyes as he stared up at Stan. Blood gushed from eyeless sockets directly onto Rick’s face, filling his nose and mouth until he was choking and sputtering on it. Stan’s grip didn’t falter.  
  
Rick awoke abruptly, gasping for air as real tears streamed down his cheeks. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was overcome with emotion, sobs rocking his body. Bird Person was already there, stroking his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“Your nightmares seem to be escalating, Rick. Perhaps they have a deeper meaning. Would you like to discuss them?”

“They d-don’t mean shit,” Rick spat. “Just some byproduct of whatever the fuck my body is going through right now.”

Bird Person didn't press, continuing to comfort him silently. Rick leaned into his touch. For a moment he let his eyes close, but then he was racked with images of Stan on fire and they shot open. Instead he glared at the—thankfully eyeless—wall.

* * *

  
Rick wasn’t quite sure when he ended upon this distant planet in another dimension, dancing and partying with alien lifeforms, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He grabbed a drink from a nearby cocktail waitress, shooting it back in one gulp.

The familiar many-limbed form of Teely broke through the crowd, clasping Rick heartily on the shoulder with two of his hands.

“You havin’ a good time, my friend?” Teely yelled over the music.

“Hell yeah!” Rick shouted back with a wolfish smile.

"That is what I like to hear!"

Teely produced a joint and held it under Rick's nose, wiggling it enticingly back and forth. Rick readily popped one end into his mouth and let his companion light it. This was some potent stuff, Rick realized as soon as he inhaled. He took another, greedy hit, not stopping until his head was swirling from lack of oxygen. Then he passed the joint, coughing up a storm.

"Oh fuck I've missed this."

"It's never the same without your face around here," Teely agreed after taking a much more restrained hit.

Teely pulled Rick’s face close to his, pressing their lips together and exhaling the smoke directly into his mouth. Rick inhaled deeply, holding the hit in as long as he could before releasing. Teely smirked, one of his hands sliding down to plant itself firmly on the small of his back. Rick looked up at him with hooded eyes, unable to suppress his own salacious grin. It was going to be a fun night.

“You got anything stronger than this?” Rick ventured, always craving a greater high.

Teely laughed, a deep, hearty sound.

“You know it, Sanchez. Follow me.”

The pair squeezed themselves through the dancing crowd, stopping by the bar for a quick drink before making their way to a back room. The air was hazy with multicolored smoke, per usual, Teely’s entourage littered across the many comfortable couches and cushions as they took hits from a hookah that was taller than Rick.

They were welcomed onto the couches, both being handed a pipe. Eyes locked, Rick and Teely took a slow hit each. The stuff coursed through Rick's body, loosening every joint and muscle. In just a few minutes he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

Teely leaned back into the cushions and Rick mirrored him. He stretched out his legs, the right pressing up against Teely's. An easy grin was on the alien's face as he started to stroke Rick's thigh with two hands.

He ordered the rest of the room to clear out, and then they were alone.

"Not in the mood for an audience?" Rick teased. Teely just laughed, a soft sound, and looked Rick up and down appraisingly.

Rick took a deep breath, inhaling the wondrously musky pheromones Teely was giving off. It was something his own species couldn't smell, but humans could—and it drove Rick wild. Arousal curled around his gut.

Teely took another hit, and beckoned Rick closer with a coaxing finger. He shotgunned the smoke into Rick’s eager mouth again, lips lingering for a second before he pulled away.

“Fuck, that’s _so good_ ,” Rick breathed, eyes fluttering.

“Did you expect any less? It’s not every day my pal Rick Sanchez is in town.”

Rick laughed.

“You’re too good to me Teels.”

“I bet I could be even better,” Teely purred, hands slowly inching further up Rick’s leg.

“Oh yeah? I-I’d like to see that.”

“Is that a challenge, Sanchez?”

“You bet it is.”

And then Teely was straddling him, all 6 of his hands roaming as they pleased. Their lips clashed hard for a brief moment, before Teely moved his mouth down to Rick’s neck, where he knew he liked to be bitten. Rick groaned as he went to work biting and sucking, drinking in that amazing scent that only grew stronger the closer they were.

This wasn't the first time they had ended up like this, and he knew Teely never disappointed. Six goddamn hands and a talented mouth, not to mention a dick that made Rick's mouth water just recalling it. Fuck, Rick was already hard.

Teely knew this, one hand having ridden up his thigh to his crotch. He chuckled against Rick's skin, the low vibration making him shiver. Teely added just enough pressure to elicit a low groan.

Then two hands helped Rick out of his shirt while the rest that weren't at his crotch roamed his torso. Rick bucked into Teely's hand. His breath hitched as the alien twitched both his nipples at once while simultaneously rubbing his palm into Rick's hardening erection, matching the rhythm of Rick's hips.

Teely’s mouth left a wet trail of sloppy kisses, lower and lower down Rick’s stomach until he reached his crotch. One pair of hands easily undid his zipper, freeing his erection. A soft chuckle fell from Teely’s lips, before he planted a soft kiss to Rick’s sensitive tip.

Rick bit back a moan as Teely went to work, licking the length of his quivering cock. Rick couldn’t hold back the unintelligible string of curses that left his mouth when Teely took him all the way in, sucking hard as he went.

One pair of hands held Rick’s hips down firmly when he started to buck up, holding him still. Teely fell into a rhythm, heading moving up and down as slid Rick’s erection in and out of his mouth with practiced ease. His middle set of hands continued their work on Rick’s sensitive nipples, while another hand grabbed ahold of his chin, sticking one thumb into Rick’s mouth. Rick accepted the digit with relish, sucking and rolling his tongue around it.

At some point Rick’s eyes fell shut as he was overcome from all the different sensations. Teely’s tongue was so similar to a human’s until you got to the back where it was suddenly ridged. The head of Rick’s cock kept rubbing against them and it was like a little taste of heaven each time. He moaned and gasped around the finger in his mouth.

Teely added a second, then Rick tilted his head so he could take in a third. The alien groaned, the vibrations shooting through his painfully hard erection. With gusto he thrust his fingers into Rick’s mouth, attempting to match rhythm to the ministrations he was already performing.

Unsure of how much longer he would last, Rick’s sounds of pleasure grew in volume, muffled by the fingers in his mouth. His groaning must have encouraged Teely, the pace of his sucking and licking growing harder and faster. One shaking hand shot out to grip the back of Teely’s bobbing head. Teely withdrew the fingers from his mouth, slick with spit, and wrapped them around his erection. His hand moved in perfect rhythm with his mouth, massaging up and down.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Rick panted. “Y-you keep that up and I’m gonna cum.”

Teely released Rick’s cock from his mouth with a small pop. He looked up at Rick with a lustful smile.

“Damn, we just got started. You’re gonna needa last longer than that, Sanchez.”

“Fu-fuck you,” Rick panted, grinning right back at him.

“Pretty sure that was already the plan.”

Teely winked then pushed himself up to kiss Rick on his open mouth. He kept one hand on Rick’s erection, another idly teasing his balls. His middle set ran deft fingers up and down Rick’s sides, ghosting against sensitive skin and making him shiver. Teely’s last pair of hands loosely hung around Rick’s neck.

Rick reached around his partner, resting one hand against the small of Teely’s back as the other ran through the alien’s hair. For a few minutes they staid like that, making out leisurely while Teely teased him. When Rick felt more in control and less likely to burst at the slightest touch he decided it was time to ramp things back up.

Rick’s mouth moved harder against Teely’s, both hands slipping under his shirt and roaming across his torso. The broke apart momentarily, a string of saliva connecting their lips as they gasped for air. Teely smoothly slid his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side as Rick worked on unbuttoning his pants.

Their lips clashed once more for just a moment, before Rick’s moved down to his neck and sucked softly, drawing a moan from his partner. Teely took the opportunity to shimmy out of his pants, his own erection poking against Rick’s stomach. Rick mirrored Teely’s actions from earlier, kissing lower and lower until he reached his crotch.

Rick looked up through his eyelashes at the alien, lips twitching up in a smirk before he nipped at Teely’s head. Teely threw his head back and moaned. Rick took the tip in his mouth, teasingly biting again.

Teely’s cock was the closest thing to actual goddamn magic. Rick adored it. It was more malleable than a human’s, and had a bit of elasticity to it. It could also take a bit more abuse than the human penis, meaning Rick didn’t have to worry about being too rough or accidentally breaking skin.

And he’d learned that nothing got Teely hotter faster than Rick’s teeth scraping across his dick.

Rick set to work on his cock, sucking sloppily and delivering quick little nibbles to the sensitive head. Like his tongue, the base of Teely’s erection was ridged, and that fire of arousal flared in Rick’s gut as he thought of how good it would feel inside of him. One pair of Teely’s hands buried themselves in Rick’s hair, another gripped his shoulder tightly, fingers twitching as Rick continued lavishing over his incredible cock.

“You taste so _good_ ,” Rick murmured after a few minutes, pressing his lips against Teely’s quivering thigh.

“Not as good as you,” Teely laughed, eyes lit with desire. The hands on Rick’s shoulders slipped down to hook under his arms, easily pulling him up and back onto the couch. “C’mon, I need you to bend over for me.”

Rick didn’t need to be told twice, planting his knees down and immediately positioning himself over the edge of the couch.

Teely wasted no time in moving Rick’s legs apart, murmuring words of appreciation that sent heat to both his groin and face. Then the sweet sentiments cut off and Rick gasped at the tongue teasing his hole.

He gripped the couch as Teely worked him open, pushing back encouragingly. Teely squeezes his thighs none too gently but didn’t hold him still. Soon the still semi-moist fingers Rick had been sucking on joined his tongue and Rick groaned out his partner’s name.

“Fuck Teely, _yes_. Give me ah-all you got.”

His partner chuckled, pulling back to assure him, “Don’t I always give you what you need, Rick?”

One of his fingers hit a spot just right and Rick gasped in response, pushing back eagerly.

The gasping soon escalated to a garbled stream of cursing and moaning as Teely fucked Rick with his fingers. One hand scratched up the side of Rick’s thigh, another reaching around to take ahold of his hardened cock, quickly pumping up and down. Rick’s back arched as Teely’s hands moved in unison, bringing him closer to release than before.

Just when Rick thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Teely pulled back, releasing his grip on his cock and removing his fingers. Rick groaned at the loss of pressure, desperately pressing his ass back against Teely’s own erection.

“Just can’t get enough, huh, Rick?” he laughed in a low, sultry voice.

Rick didn’t respond with words, opting to push back and grind his ass against Teely’s crotch.

It was Teely’s turn to groan. He clamped a hand on either side of Rick’s hips and lined his cock up. Then he was pressing the tip and Rick’s eyes fluttered.

“Fuck yes, _fuck_. Goddamn Teely, _yes_.”

“One thing I can’t get enough of,” Teely grunted, sliding further in, “is how vocal you are. Keep, fuck, talking to me, Rick.”

“Your cock feels so fucking good,” Rick obliged, meaning every word. “Best goddamn drug in the multiverse.”

Teely’s hips were flush with Rick’s ass and the latter moaned unabashedly, back arching. Then Teely started moving and he devolved into nonsensical babbling. Teely grunted along encouragingly, reaching around and grasping Rick’s own erection.

His hand slid up and down Rick’s quivering cock, hips picking up speed. Rick pressed back against him, swearing loudly each time Teely’s dick sunk in as deep as possible. He felt a hand grab a firm hold of his wild hair, yanking his head back and keeping him there. Another set of hands gripped his hips tightly, keeping him in place as Teely picked up speed.

“Oh, _please_ ,” Rick begged. “You’re so fucking _good_ at that.”

Teely faltered for a moment, panting.

“You humans are so _tight_ ,” he gasped, his hold on Rick’s hair slackening.

“ _Please don’t stop_.”

“Who said anything about stopping?”

And then Teely was pounding into Rick harder and faster than before, pulling hard on his hair. Rick moaned loudly, continuing his shameless begging.

“Yeah, that what you like?” Teely hissed, digging his fingers into the flesh of Rick’s thigh.

“Fuck, yes, just like that! Right there, please!”

Teely gave a breathy laugh and replied, “I always aim to please, Rick, you know that.”

Rick knew he wouldn’t last much longer and tried to tell Teely, but the words came out broken. Still his partner must have understood him as Teely stroked his cock frantically, telling Rick to cum for him. So Rick closed his eyes and let everything consume him.

Heat ran across his body even as he shivered. It especially coiled in his groin and this time Rick didn’t try to hold back. Teely struck the right spot hard and Rick saw more than just stars—he saw a whole goddamn universe exploding into life.

Teely continued to pound into that little spot, each thrust sending shockwaves of pure pleasure through Rick’s entire body. Rick could feel those ridges on Teely’s cock every time he sunk in, stimulating the nerves around his sensitive entrance. It was driving him wild. Soon Rick couldn’t take it any longer, his surrounding dissolving into a sea of bliss. That tightening in his gut finally released, his seed shooting up and across his chest, leaving a sticky mess in Teely’s hand.

Teely cried out words of encouragement as Rick came, hard, back arching violently and the muscles of his thighs spasming. Teely continued his pounding, words turning to needy groaning as he neared his own orgasm.

“Ah, fuck, Rick, I’m gonna—”

And then Teely gave a long, drawn out moan, thrusting hard into Rick has he came. Rick felt the warmth of his seed fill him up as all movement ceased for a moment, Teely’s various hands digging into the skin of his thighs, his back.

Eventually Teely’s grip on his hair laxed and Rick slumped against the couch, dazed. Teely in turn slumped against Rick, face pressed against his back.

For a few minutes they stayed like that, Teely remaining buried in Rick though his hands gentled into lighter touches. Rick hummed in satisfaction. His mind was blissfully empty.

Then the craving for a smoke or drink—or anything, really—hit him.

As though sensing this Teely pushed himself up, finally pulling out of Rick gingerly. A second later he heard the sound of the hookah and then Teely was helping him sit up. Rick opened his mouth to say something only to find Teely’s own on his again, pushing smoke in. Rick readily inhaled.

Rick held the smoke in for a moment, before releasing a hazy stream into the already cloudy air. His brain immediately fuzzed over, the feeling traveling down the back of his neck. He reached for the mouthpiece for the hookah, grinning lazily when Teely immediately thrust it into his hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he took another long drag. He tried holding it in again, but his lungs hadn’t yet recovered from the first hit, and he was unable to stop the coughing that ensued.

Teely laughed, clapping him hard on the back with two hands and taking the mouthpiece back from him.

“You alright there? Need something to drink?” Teely offered, reaching for a bottle of champagne sitting in a crystal basin filled with ice.

Rick nodded, eyes streaming as he continued to hack.

Teely waited patiently for him to recover, pouring them both a tall flute of champagne. Rick gratefully took the offered drink, clinking their glasses together with a sloppy grin. His companion chuckled.

They fell into an amiable silence. Before Rick knew it they had emptied the bottle, leaving them with the hookah to keep sobriety at bay. Rick had let his eyes drift close at some point and never bothered to open them, leaning against Teely who didn't mind. In fact he wrapped arms around him loosely and Rick settled gladly into the embrace.

It was a good moment—Rick felt calm, relaxed, _content_ —so of course it couldn't last.

"So what've you been up to, Sanchez? Got some mad plans rolling around that amazing mind of yours?"

Rick didn’t answer for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to be honest.

“Uhh, of course I do,” he lied. “I’ve got some r-real big stuff simmering.”

Rick drunkenly knocked a fist on his head.

“Just been trying to l-lay low, waiting for the perfect moment,” Rick went on. “Some great st-stuff is coming.”

“Oh yeah? Can’t wait to see what you got planned.”

“Y-yeah, just you wait. For now, my plans involved getting fucked up. Think, think you can help with that?”

Rick glanced over at his companion who shot him a wink, holding up a little baggy filled with a white substance Rick knew well. He was upright in an instant and Teely cut them both fat lines. When Rick snorted his the burn was instant, familiar, _refreshing_. Now this is what he needed to get those mad plans rolling.

They finished off the bag, then Teely called in on of his entourage who offered them a smorgasbord of pills; they sampled a little of everything. Time stopped running at an even pace after that. Things went so slow Rick caught trails of himself when he moved. A bit later everything sped up like he was jumping from scene to scene in an expensive hollywood movie. Rick let time do whatever the fuck it felt like.

He and Teely hit the club again, mixing drinks and dancing. A little later that could have been an hour or a nanosecond they were making out like horny teens at prom on some couch, Rick flipping off a few aliens who were watching and commentating. In another hour-slash-second they were melting tabs under their tongue in a dark corner, laughing at a joke neither could remember.

That’s when things started to get _very_ weird, the walls dripping into the floor, the air itself _breathing_ around them. Rick couldn’t stop smiling, enamored by the faint, multicolored glow that seemed to be emanating from everyone around him, especially Teely.

Textures felt fantastic under his fingers, and Rick found himself running his hand over the ridges on the back of Teely’s neck. They reminded him of the ridges on his tongue and cock, and Rick felt a twinge of desire, somehow still not satisfied by their earlier romp.

Before he knew it he was pulling Teely into the back room once again, attacking him with kisses and groping his crotch. It didn’t take long for Teely to get hard again, Rick greedily tearing off his pants. He took the baggie of coke and carefully set a thick line on Teely’s hardened cock, snorting it down in a fluid motion. He moaned as Rick took him into his mouth, licking the rest off.

Rick didn’t know how long he knelt there, Teely’s hands buried in his hair as he sucked him off. It could have been minutes or hours later, but he didn’t stop until Teely came, hard and messy.

“ _Fuck_ , Sanchez,” he groaned as Rick clambered back to his feet. “ You should come around here more often.”

"Was that a pun?"

"An invitation," Teely said with a wink.

Rick laughed and made himself comfortable in the alien's lap, lazily wrapping his arms around Teely's neck. He placed a kiss on Teely's open mouth, which quickly turned more heated. Next thing Rick knew he was on his back and time continued to make no sense, though he was sure a good hour had passed linear-wise by the time they were sticky and done again.

Eventually they got cleaned up again and tossed clothes back on. Teely's shirt had disappeared but they didn't bother looking for it as they headed back to the bar, desperately craving a good drink.

The two were in the middle of a shot-taking contest, shooting back swallow after swallow of liquor, when Rick felt a tap on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, trying to maintain his lead, when the person tapped again. Emitting a loud groan, Rick took one more shot and spun around to face whoever was so keen on getting his attention.

“C-can’t you see I’m busy—” Rick’s annoyed tone instantly changed, and he gave a nervous laugh. “B-Bird Person! What, what brings you-you to this side of the galaxy?”

“Rick. You said you were going for some ice cream. This is not an ice cream parlor.”

“In my de—urp—fense there are some drugs named after ice cream flavors.”

“That is not a very good excuse, Rick.”

Before Rick could figure out a decent reply Teely leaned forward, getting between the two, and asked, “Are you standing people up again?”

“I wouldn’t use those words, necessarily.”

Shaking his head Teely chuckled. “You’re the multiverse’s biggest heartbreaker Sanchez.”

“I resent that notion.”

“I feel it is an apt descriptor,” Bird Person argued.

Rick took another shot.

“Rick, I’m not sure that is such a good idea,” Bird Person said.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rick replied, swallowing down another. “I-I-I already lost the race thanks to you.”

“We can always set up another,” Teely interjected. “You in, pal?”

“No, thank you,” Bird Person said. “It would be best if Rick and I returned to my home.”

"And that is a thing I will totally do," Rick assured. "As soon as I win this shot race."

Bird Person placed a gentle yet firm hand on Rick's shoulder and Rick looked up at him. His friend met his gaze steadily as he told him, "Rick, you need to look inside of yourself. Recovery cannot happen if you refuse to try. It is not an easy road, I know, but it is a road I know you can get back on."

Rick looked away, suddenly finding the bar counter fascinating. He missed the look Teely shot Bird Person, though he heard his comment.

"Wait, is that what you've been up to, Rick? Trying to cut yourself off?"

"Eh, it was a bad idea. It rarely happens, but sometimes I have one of those."

Teely sighed and grumbled, "Goddamn it, Sanchez. You know, he doesn't weigh that much and you look like you got some abs on you, Feathers."

"That is a correct observation, thank you."

"Wait, what?"

Rick didn't have time to react before Bird Person was picking him up. He tried to struggle but the other man had a tight grip on him.

"What the fuck? I thought recovery was a choice, you son of a bitch!”

Bird Person hummed noncommittally as he started for the exit.

"Take it easy, Sanchez," Teely called out after him, having the gall to wave.

Rick flipped him off, throwing out several colorful curses that got lost in the sounds of the club.

Once outside, Bird Person opened the door to his personal spaceship and tossed Rick inside, before taking the driver’s seat. Rick crossed his arms and huffed angrily, staring out the window like a haughty teenager.

“Do not forget your seatbelt, Rick,” Bird Person said gently as he clicked his own into place.

Rick ignored him and gave another angry sigh, turning his back towards Bird Person.

“Rick, I am only concerned for your safety and well-being.”

“More l-like concerned with being a buzzkill,” Rick muttered under his breath.

Bird Person didn’t respond, but started up the engine. They didn’t speak another word the rest of the way home.

Rick didn't need to be prompted to go inside, accepting his fate if begrudgingly so. He headed straight for his room, ignoring Bird Person who was saying something about the importance of staying hydrated and plopped down on the bed. Partly it was out of anger, and partly because the drive had made his head swim and stomach lurch. He was definitely coming down, and it was not pleasant.

At some point Rick figured he must have fallen asleep because he found himself waking up groggily. He pushed himself halfway up, instantly regretted it as his vision blurred, and let himself fall back onto the bed with an oof.

Glancing to the side he saw a glass of water and some pain pills. Rick eagerly downed both.

"Goddamn it," he grouched to the empty room. Bird Person made it way too hard to be angry at him.

The pounding in his head subsided a little after a few moments, leaving him with a dull ache instead. He curled back into the bed, shivering under a blanket. Unable to get back to sleep, he lie there completely still, mind racing. Bird Person was too good to him. He didn’t deserve him, just like Rick didn’t deserve any of the other good people who had come into his life.

Rick stewed in his guilt, fighting the urge to apologize to Bird Person for being such a shit person. His pride wouldn’t let him.

At some point he heard Bird Person softly knock on his door. Rick didn’t answer, unable to face his friend after the way he had been acting the night before, like some child who had been denied candy at the grocery store.

After a moment, Bird Person quietly opened the door, and Rick could hear him refilling the cup with water before leaving him alone once more. What a fucking saint.

Rick groaned again and ran his hands over his face, pulling hard at his skin. Why did he have to be such a fucking asshole? Why couldn't he make things easy on _one_ person? His best friend deserved so much better than taking care of his useless, pathetic ass.

He deserved it so he was going to get it. Rick decided from that moment on he was going to stick to the whole sobriety thing. He couldn't keep doing this to people he cared for—the wild drug and booze usage had to go or else he had to go, permanently, from all their lives.

Briefly he wondered what Teely was up to. Then he admonished himself; that fucker would probably just figure out a way to contact Bird Person to drag his ass back. Sneaky bastard.

"Fine," Rick snapped out loud, "sobriety it is. God fucking damn it."

Rick’s most recent bender had put him right back to square one, and he wasn’t looking forward to the rocky path ahead of him. He eventually was able to drift back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of watching eyes and shrill laughter. It didn’t last long, and soon enough he was up again with a head-splitting pounding reverberating throughout his skull, like his brain had grown four sizes too big.

Rick groaned for Bird Person, who was at his side in an instant, handing him some medicine for the pain.

“How are you feeling?” his friend asked, concerned.

“L-like a million bucks,” Rick said wryly.

“You should have some food, I have prepared a protein-rich breakfast that should help you feel better.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

“You do not need to tell me things that I already know, Rick. I will retrieve your food.”

Rick laughed, clutching his head when the action aggravated it. Thankfully Bird Person was back just a moment later, and surprisingly the scent of food didn't make him nauseous. He dug right in.

Bird Person left again to bring him fresh water. When he came back Rick swallowed and told him, "This time I swear I'm gonna try harder."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Rick. Should you fall back on old habits again I will just pick you up again and this time tie you to the bed."

"Kinky. Deal."

* * *

 

Rick regretted every single decision he had ever made in life, big or small, relevant or trivial. Hell he regretted being alive.

"Son of a goddamn motherfucking bitch," he seethed, pacing from one end of the room to the other.

He clutched his stomach as another wave of nausea hit him. Rick tried to keep walking, to walk it off, but that old adage was bullshit and he had to stop in his tracks. Legs buckling he ended up on the floor unceremoniously.

The door creaked and Rick's head swiveled; it was just Bird Person with a pitcher of cold water. Just the sight of it made Rick's shoulders sag in relief. He'd been so hot lately, partly due to recurring spikes of pain in his back. Not that the lack of sleep wasn't helping in keeping him dehydrated.

Bird Person poured Rick a glass of water; the glass was snatched from his hand before he was quite finished pouring, and Bird Person was just able to keep the water from spilling on the floor. Rick chugged the glass in a few desperate gulps, still not satisfied.

Rick traded the glass for the entire pitcher from Bird Person, drinking deeply until his dry throat felt quenched.

Rick immediately regretted his impulsive decision to chug the water, his already upset stomach now heavy and sloshing with the sudden amount of liquid. He thrust the pitcher back into Bird Person’s hands, staggering and collapsing on the bed with a groan.

“Perhaps that was not the best idea,” Bird Person commenter, taking a seat next to Rick on the bed.

Rick grunted in response, clutching his sensitive stomach.

“Rick, I have brought something that may ease your pain.”

Bird Person revealed a small glass bottle, and Rick could clearly see a neatly rolled joint inside. His jaw dropped.

"If I believed in god—which I don't because we live in a cruel and uncaring hellscape of a universe—I'd wonder if you were ah-ah-ah, an angel or a fucking demon temptress."

"Neither, Rick. I'm a man who did research and found that marijuana should help with the withdrawal symptoms you've been dealing with."

Rick made grabby hands for the joint as Bird Person slid it out. He let Rick take it, bringing out a match and even lighting it for him.

Rick took a generous inhale and smoke filled his mouth. He held it for as long as he could, finally letting it all escape as he broke into a coughing fit. It was strong stuff. Maybe it was the placebo effect, but Rick swore he was already feeling calmer.

After a few more hits, Rick offered it to Bird Person, who waved it away.

“That is for you. I hope you feel better, my friend.”

Rick gave a weak smile and brought the joint back to his lips to take another deep drag. His coughing was more subdued as he released the smoke.

They sat quietly until Rick was finished. His stomach was already feeling much more settled. Clearing his throat, he broke the silence:

“Thanks, Bird Person. I don’t deserve such a good friend.”

“You are very welcome, Rick. I have to disagree. You deserve a good friend, and I am glad to be one. Your self-deprecating attitude can be detrimental to your recovery.”

“Fuck, Bird Person, you always tell it l-like it is.”

"If I didn't then you would continue unhindered down your path of self-destruction."

Fucking cold. But the truth. Rick nodded, letting his eyelids droop. He was so tired, probably— _hopefully_ —too tired to dream.

After a bit of Rick starting to nod off Bird Person helped him into bed proper. Bird Person only hummed at Rick's string of barely intelligible thanks, tucking him in before leaving. Rick focused on the haze that had gripped him, letting it work its course.

Rick was eventually able to fall into the deepest sleep he had managed in weeks. Thankfully, he didn’t dream.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all imagine Teely as Osmosis Jones with six arms and no pseudo facial hair. -Fox 
> 
> Enjoy those visions of Rick fucking an Osmosis Jones lookalike with six arms. -Lynz


	17. Making Rickparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets all of his shit together and puts it in a bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are six months late and we don’t even have Starbucks. –Fox
> 
> Sorry for the holdup folks. Jerry legit gave me writers block for 6 months. Fuck you Jerry. –Lynds

Rick pulled on his left glove, letting it go with a snap. He did the same with the second glove, smirking to himself. Fuck this felt good.

This felt like his old self, only  _ improved.  _ And that's exactly what this was. Rick Sanchez was back in the game—the game being fucking shit up—and was ready to take on the multiverse. Nothing was clouding his mind. Not pitiful fucking emotions, not copious amounts of inebriants, nothing. Rick Sanchez was once again in control of himself.

And Rick Sanchez was preparing to rob a bank.

Sure, the idea had been a drunken one. But as time went on—and as Rick sobered up—it continued to make more and more sense. Money had always been a stressor in his life, driving a wedge in his relationships. The way Rick saw it, copious amounts of money was the solution to all his problems. Besides, how else was he supposed to put Beth through college?

Rick clipped on a utility belt laden with various rounds of ammo and tools he’d chosen carefully for his mission. He threw a grin to Bird Person, who was fitting himself with similar gear. It had taken a lots of convincing to finally get his friend in on the plan. But Rick could be relentless when he really wanted to be, and Bird Person couldn’t let him do it alone.

It helped that Rick knew his friend had a devious daredevil streak in him he refused to admit. Which was showing now in the eager anticipation written all over Bird Person’s face even through the eye mask he was pulling down.

“Y-you ready to do this like teachers in the closet at prom?”

“I am not quite sure what that means, but yes. Let’s go rob a bank.”

The two grabbed their supplies and Rick set his portal gun. Let’s see, what would be a good dimension to do this in? Something with an ‘H’. Felt appropriate. 

Coordinates set, Rick fired off a portal and they stepped through. They came out in a back alley on planet whose natives looked like the stereotypical 1950s depictions of gray aliens, except with more eyes and glowing marks all over their bodies. Also they actually wore clothes, or at least skirt-like bottoms.

Rick and Bird Person stuck out like sore thumbs, but none of the planet’s inhabitants gave them a second glance. Shrugging, the pair hurried through the alley and out onto a busy street. A crowd of aliens bustled past them as if they didn’t exist. Rick brushed it off and took a moment to take in his surroundings, trying to figure out their next move. 

The streets were lined with towering structures, natives flowing in and out of the doors with no stopping. They seemed to be a very fast-paced people, barely stopping or looking anywhere but straight ahead. Bird Person nudged Rick with his elbow, nodding towards one of the taller, busier buildings.

“That looks like an ideal place to start our search,” he said in a low voice.  

“Your guess is a good as mine. L-let’s do this.”

It was a lucky choice—it actually was a bank. Of some sort, anyway. There were tellers to one side, all busy with their own tasks behind their individual cube, but most of the patrons bypassed them completely. Some were at island counters set up around the large room, while most were going through a revolving door on the other side. Rick shared a look with his partner before they walked up to a teller who didn't even glance up from the pad they were writing in.

"Uh, hey, does this bank have giant vault of valuables?"   
  
"Yes yes, accessible through there," the alien said, motioning in the vague direction of the revolving door. "Large vault is way in the back, just past the individual security boxes."   
  
"Thank you for your time," Bird Person told them, earning a disinterested hum in response.

They shared an incredulous look, before heading in the direction the teller had pointed. Rick was on edge, waiting for the sound of an alarm or the cry of a security guard that never came. 

“Th-this is way too easy,” he remarked to Bird Person as the passed the aforementioned security boxes. “Something isn’t right.” 

Bird Person merely shrugged. 

“What is that Earth saying, about counting the eggs?”

"Yeah well I don't want all our eggs cracked." They stopped in front of a large, closed vault. "You stand guard while I see what magic I can work here." Rick cracked his knuckles. "Magic being science, because magic is bullshit."

Bird Person nodded as Rick examined the vault with a keen eye. There was no keypad he could see, no sort of obvious locking/unlocking mechanic. All that was there was a large handle in the middle of one side. Prepared to hightail it out of there if an audible alarm went off or some sort of noticeable security system kicked in, Rick gingerly pulled the handle. The vault opened right up.

Peering inside Rick didn't see anything amiss. Just plenty of alien currency and a bunch of gemstones native to this planet. He strolled right in while his partner stood guard and loaded their bags up.

Rick just couldn’t shake his sense of suspicion as he opened up a portal and threw the hefty bags in. He half expected the mere presence of his portal gun to trip the hidden, ultra-sophisticated security system he just  _ knew _ was waiting to surprise them. He almost wanted to be caught, relished the idea of a fight after laying low for so long. 

It didn’t take long to clear out the vault, with not so much as one person checking in on the obvious intruders. Rick hung around even after they were done, tempted to shout or run around for some kind of attention. He was trying this new thing where he didn’t intentionally act like an idiot, though, so instead he gave a defeated sigh. 

“C’mon, Bird Person, let’s leave this boring-ass planet,” he grumbled, motioning towards the portal.

Bird Person patted his shoulder as he passed. Rick followed him through the portal, physically deflating when they were safe on the other side.

"That was so easy they might as well have handed it all to us," Rick complained. He slumped against Bird Person's couch. 

"The important part is that we have a substantial amount here to do something with. I will get in contact with someone who will exchange currency for us."

Indignation suddenly smacking against his determination, Rick sprung up and said, "H-hold the phone, dawg. We're gonna go rob a proper fucking bank. Someplace that's an actual challenge."

“Rick, if I may?"

"Say whatever you gotta, dawg."   
  
"You are being an idiot," Bird Person told him bluntly. "Now sit down while I go make calls." Rick groaned like a child who wasn't getting their way. Bird Person rolled his eyes and promised, "Once this has all been moved we'll go back out and find another bank to rob."

Rick perked up, grin from earlier back on his face in full force. He settled back down on the couch while his partner made some very shady calls to some very shady folk.

Rick began to count through their spoils as he waited, grin widening into a toothy smile when he realized just how rich they had become. It wasn’t long before there was a knock at Bird Person’s door. His friend responded before he could, welcoming a very familiar six-limbed figure through the door. 

“Thank you for responding so swiftly, Teely,” Bird Person said as the alien entered the living room.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he responded warmly. “I’m always happy to help a friend.”

“Teely!” Rick exclaimed, bolting from the couch to deliver a firm hug. 

“Rick Sanchez!” Teely boomed, zealously returning the embrace. “Great to see you again, my friend. You’re looking good. Sober.”

"Yeah yeah," Rick mumbled, pulling back and trying to pretend he wasn't incredibly embarrassed. Though a lot of his detoxing was a blur, he clearly recalled the night Bird Person had carried him out of the club. Not his proudest moment by a long shot.

"So, I hear someone's in need of a little money switching," the alien said, making himself comfortable on the couch. He glanced down at the loot Rick had been examining and whistled. "What'll it be, boys? Exchanging to schmeckles? Flurbos? Boondollars?"

“Nah, an Earth currency," Rick told him, taking his previous seat next to Teely. "US dollars."

"Anything for you, my friend."

He threw Rick a quick wink, before surveying the stacks of money that lay before them, brow furrowing as he calculated in his head. After a moment he let out a low whistle. 

“Looks like you lucky fellas got about two million US dollars right here. Must have been quite the heist you pulled off.” 

“Eh, I’ve been on better,” Rick grumbled. “It was like taking candy from a baby. Bullshit.”

Teely laughed. 

“You know, you’re the only person who’d complain about something like that, Rick. Anyway, my guy is on his way now. He should have more than enough to cover all this.”

"Sounds good," Rick said. 

"I will pour us some drinks," Bird Person decided. He stepped into the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. Teely eyed it then Rick in an obvious manner.

"It's okay, I slowed way the fuck down on drinking," Rick assured. "No more binges, no more downing one bottle after another. Besides, this is some low grade shit. Any lower and it'd be boxed wine."

"In that case," Teely replied, grabbing one of the glasses, "to a job well done, boys."

The three clinked their glasses together, before taking a drink. As much as Rick yearned to down the glass in one gulp, he forced himself to sip. Sure, he had slowed down—that didn’t mean it was easy. This drink was his first in two weeks and five days, but who was counting? He sipped some more.

Before he had even finished his glass there was a honking noise from outside. 

“That’s for me,” Teely said, downing the rest of his drink. “Give me a minute.”

He wasn't gone for long, and when he came back he was accompanied by a beautifully stuffed duffle bag. It made a melodic thud against the table when he dropped it; when Teely unzipped the bag fat stacks of US dollar bills popped out like cream filling that just couldn't be contained by any dough.

“Now that's what I like to see, baby!"

Counting was done while Teely gathered the alien currency and packed it up. When Rick had made sure all his money was there Teely and Bird Person took it back down to the waiting dealer. Rick meanwhile thought about this money's new home.

His initial plan was to take it all back to Beth and Diane, and hopefully use it to start their new, sobered up life together. But as Rick stared at the overflowing duffel bag a fresh idea popped into his head: Take the cash to Gravity Falls and convince Stan to run away with him again. He had always told Stan that he’d take care of him, that one day they would be rich. This was the one time he’d be able to deliver on those promises. He could also take the chance to show Stan he was changed man. 

Before he knew it the portal gun was already in his hand, typing in the coordinates to Gravity Falls. A portal opened up on the wall, illuminating his face with a soft green light. He stared blankly at the portal, not really looking at it, but imagining what Stan’s face would look like when he saw all that money.

Rick wanted to walk through more than anything.  _ Almost  _ more than anything.

With a sigh he let the portal close. He owed so much to Stan and Diane both, but he had an obligation to the little life he accidentally created. Beth deserved a chance at college and a good life. She deserved all the opportunities he never had, and the opportunities he hadn't been able to give her. Until now.

The sudden sound of the door opening again startled Rick, and he spun around to see Teely and Bird Person shaking hands. 

“Thank you, once again, for your efficiency,” Bird Person said as they shook. 

“No problem,” Teely insisted. “It was great seeing you boys again. Good to see you’re keepin’ Rick outta trouble, BP. And you—” He turned to Rick. “Next time you’re tryin’ to get clean, let a guy know, will ya? I felt like a complete jerk knowin’ I was steering you down the wrong path. I consider you a good friend, Rick, and I like seeing my friends succeed. Take care of yourself, and keep in touch.” 

Rick felt his face grow hot, and offered a sheepish grin. 

“I-I don’t know why I didn’t tell you,” he replied apologetically. “I guess I was ashamed of what it had come down to. Won’t let it happen again.”

“You know there's no shame it, Rick," Teely told him, and the sheer sincerity and concern directed at him made Rick feel way out of his depth. "Getting clean ain't easy, and neither is staying clean. You got friends that care about you, though. Don't forget that."

Rick swallowed thickly forced out a grin as he replied, "Y-yeah. Whatever, you sap."

“And I mean it about staying in touch, you lovable asshole."

Rolling his eyes, Rick promised he'd drop a message sometime soon. Teely accepted this with an easy smile and bid them a last goodbye before heading out. Rick instantly missed him. Shoving that down, though, he turned to Bird Person.

"Alright, I'm out too. Your job is to find a bank worthy of our heisting skills."

“Of course, Rick. I wish you the best of luck with Diane,” Bird Person replied. 

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” Rick sighed, before hefting the bulging duffel bag onto his shoulder. “If all goes well I might not be back for a few days, maybe even longer.” 

“I should have found a worthy bank by then. Goodbye, Rick.” 

“See ya, Bird Person.” 

And with that, Rick shot off another portal, and actually stepped through this time.

His foot went through the portal, landing on a soft lawn. Diane’s house was quiet, softly illuminated by the first few rays of the sun as it began to slowly rise above the horizon. Rick was thankful to see Diane’s car was still in the driveway; he was afraid she might be at work.

"Okay, Rick, you can do this." 

He took a deep breath and marched up to the front door with all the confidence he had ever possessed. Well, at least all the confidence he could muster. Which was enough to get his fist raised and knocking on the door loud enough to be heard by anyone inside.

It was just thirty seconds—yes, he counted because fuck you—before the door opened and he saw Diane's smiling face again.

That smile was quickly tugged into a frown.

“What are you doing here?” Diane asked in a flat tone. 

“Do you have time to talk?” Rick replied quickly, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag that was painfully cutting into his shoulder.

“Not really, I need to get ready for work.” 

Rick almost winced at the bite that was in her voice, but persisted. 

“What if I told you you’ll never have to work another day in your life?” 

“I’d say you were lying like all the other times.” 

Rick actually did wince that time. 

“Ok, I deserved that,” he admitted. “But this time it’s not a lie. Please, just let me talk.”

Diane sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. 

“Rick, I  _ really  _ don’t have time for this,” she insisted. “I still have to wake up Beth and get her ready for daycare.” 

“Daycare? You–you’re trusting our kid with some underpaid strangers?” Rick bristled before he could stop himself. 

Diane cocked an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, daycare,  _ Rick.  _ The single parent life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Diane had such a knack for making him feel like the lowest fucking scum. He couldn't back down, though. Setting the duffle on the ground he opened it up for her to see his olive branch. He bit his lip to stop from snickering at how wide her eyes went.

"Oh my god."

“Ah–all yours. And Beth's," Rick told her, straightening. 

"Oh. My. _ God.” _

Rick couldn't hold back his smile. "You can get Beth everything she needs. Clothes, books, food. There's enough here to set up a proper college fund. She can get into any college she wants now, you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Oh my god,  _ Rick.”  _

His name came out harsh, and it was his turn to frown. This was not the joyous interaction he had anticipated and frankly he couldn't fathom what was going through Diane's mind right then.

"Something wrong?"

"What the hell do you think, Rick? I'm not accepting this...this drug money or whatever it's from. Obviously you had to get it illegally, and I'm not involving  _ my daughter  _ in any of this.”

Whatever reaction Rick had expected, it was definitely not this. How could anyone turn away so much money? Especially someone who was obviously in such a dire need for the stuff. His frown deepened. 

“You’re taking this money whether you like it or not. I had to go through some real shit to get this,” he lied, thinking about that strange world and their lack of security. 

“Nope, no way, I don’t want this traced back to me or Beth in anyway.” 

“These are  _ unmarked  _ bills, Diane.” Rick softened his tone. “I got this money from an entirely different  _ dimension.  _ It’s untraceable. Trust me, if I thought this was going to bring either of you any danger, I wouldn’t be here right now.” 

Diane stayed silent, and Rick could tell she was mentally weighing her options. Rick continued: 

“What sounds better to you: work your life away trying to make ends meet, or getting the time to really raise our daughter and give her the life she deserve?”

Diane looked away from both him and the bag of money, arms crossing over her chest. Rick watched as she worked out some internal dilemma. He noted the way she nipped at loose skin on her bottom lip, worrying it raw. How her nails dug into the flesh of her arms, then let go only to clench again a moment later. When she started blinking rapidly, eyes glistening in a way that tugged at Rick's heart.

In a soft voice Rick had to strain to hear she finally told him, "I hate you, Rick."

“What?"

"I hate you so much." She sighed and faced forward again, though keeping her eyes on the bag at their feet instead of him. "You are a fucking hurricane blowing in and bringing so much  _ awfulness  _ with you. You break people down, Rick. You may not mean to, but that's exactly what you do every. Single. Time. And I...I can't do that again. Please go away."

Rick stared at her, stunned beyond words. Stunned beyond emotions. 

“Rick.  _ Leave.  _ Do not come back here ever again. Do not try to see Beth. Don't break her like you've broken me,  _ please.” _

Rick's hands balled into fists as a torrent of emotions hit him all at once. When he spoke it was choked.

_ “Fine.  _ But I'm leaving the fucking money here."

“Rick, I told you I can’t—” 

“Yes, you can, and you  _ will,”  _ Rick cut her off firmly. “I don’t care if you don’t want it. I did this for Beth.” He nudged it towards her with his foot. 

Diane opened her mouth but no words came out. 

Rick took out his portal gun, aiming it at the ground before she could find her voice. A swirling portal opened up before him. He cast one final look at Diane. 

“Tell Beth her daddy l-loves and cares about her very much, will you?” 

Diane didn’t respond. Emitting a defeated sigh, Rick jumped through the portal. He landed on his feet, only a few dozen yards away from where he stood before, this time in the backyard. Diane’s house stood in front of him. Rick listened carefully as she struggled the lift the duffel bag and hurry back inside the house, shutting the front door. 

Rick turned his attention to the house, specifically the window closest to him. He could just make out Beth’s bedroom through the cracks of the mini-blinds. Rick could barely see Beth’s sleeping form. It would be so easy to portal in, to wake her and share one last goodbye. The idea was tempting. 

But Diane’s words rung in his ears, fresh and biting. Maybe seeing Beth wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe it would cause more hurt and confusion for her little mind to comprehend. He could only imagine how devastated she was the first time he left; losing him twice at such a young age...Rick couldn’t do that to her. Not again.

Emotions burned in his chest but once again Rick shoved those aside and opened another portal. He had no business here anymore, but he knew where he could go.

It was somewhere in the afternoon in Gravity Falls. The fresh Oregon air hit him instantly. The sun was bright, shining down on Rick and blinding him. He brought his arm up to shield his eyes as he squinted at the shack just feet away. 

The place was crowded. Rick shouldn't have been surprised; Stan had always possessed a remarkable salesman charm, manipulating plenty of schmucks with ease—and he meant that as the highest quality of compliment.

Rick stared for a few minutes, watching crowds of tourists bustle in and out of the shack. It would be so easy to slip in amongst the droves of people, unnoticed. 

So he did. 

The gift shop was filled from end to end, and Rick had to force his way through the crowd, making a beeline for the very back. He avoided the register, although he wasn’t quite sure why; he was here to talk to Stan, after all, to convince him that he wasn’t total trash and that he deserved one last chance. 

But that annoying voice in his head was growing louder, insisting that he was in fact complete and utter trash, and he did not deserve yet  _ another  _ chance. Before he could tell that voice to shut the fuck up, the heart-achingly familiar sound of Stan’s booming laughter rang through the air. Rick’s breath caught in his throat and he felt like some obsessive teen thirsting after their unrequited love. The voice laughed at him in turn.

Rick had to look, couldn't stop himself and just walk out without seeing him. There was Stan, looking so much better than when they were last face to face. He was talking to some enraptured tourists that hung on every word of whatever tall tale he was selling them. Just like always when he really got into a story Stan's hands were all over the place, gesticulating wildly.  His face was bright, smile easygoing. 

If it was a front it was one hell of an act and deserved an award.

What it—what  _ Stan  _ didn't deserve was him.

Diane was right. All Rick did was break people, especially those he cared about the most. It was then, in that crystallizing moment, that Rick realized it had to stop. Coming to Gravity Falls has been a mistake, the latest of many. Stan obviously had enough on his plate; he didn’t need Rick coming around and causing more trouble. 

So Rick did what he did best. He left.

* * *

 

Rick had learned something throughout the years: he was not a good man. At his very core he was selfish. 

For almost twenty years he stayed away from everyone he had once loved  _ intensely;  _ they shouldn't have to love him back and get nothing but regret in return. He stayed off Earth altogether. Which was less painful, because fuck humanity and the shitty societies they had built up. Not that the rest of the universe was any better, but at least he could make new memories instead of wallow in the past. 

But then Rick had done what he did second best. He pissed people off.

Specifically he pissed off the Galactic Federation.

Now, running away from any Earth government was easy. But the Galactic Federation was a whole other ballgame. Space wasn’t as fun when your face was plastered across wanted signs all over the galaxy. So Rick searched for planets not yet included in the Federation. Most were uninhabited or too fucked up to live on; Rick wasn’t too keen on screaming suns or that one planet where  _ everything  _ was on the cob. 

Which brought Rick back to Earth. The ball of dirt he had spent so many years avoiding. It was just as depressing and unremarkable as it had been when he left.

The only bright point he could imagine was his daughter. He needed to see her. Loneliness was for other, lesser people, but god dammit that's just what he was:  _ lonely. _

So, he gave into his selfishness and scanned the planet for her specific signature. The he portaled to Seattle, Washington all the while telling himself this was just temporary and he wouldn't stay long enough to fuck her over.

He didn't even have the chance to second guess himself because right in the front yard was a little girl with wild red hair playing with a headless doll. She was giggling with abandon as she happily shoved leaves and dirt into the body of the doll. 

Rick watched her for a minute. She was the spitting image of Beth around the last time he has seen her, if not for that hair. He was so lost in this kid that he didn't realize the garage door was open and someone was in there until he heard a woman's voice.

"Summer, sweetie, do you have to do that?"

Rick felt his heartbeat slow almost to a stop as his fully grown daughter stepped out of the garage, crouching down to pick up the young girl. As Beth straightened up and held the girl on her hip, her eyes landed on Rick, who was standing just outside the gate. Her eyes widened, jaw falling open.  

There was silence for a moment, even the girl stopped laughing. 

“H-hey there, sweetie,” Rick finally forced out. “Remember me?”

Rick was pretty sure his heart actually did stop beating for a few seconds as Beth scrutinized his face, Then tentative recognition washed over her and she asked like she couldn't believe it, "Dad?"

Beaming he confirmed, "Y-yeah, Beth. It's me. Daddy's back."

Beth blinked once, twice. Then, "Holy shit."

Well, not the worst reaction.

"You son of a bitch."

Scratch that.

"Oh my god, don't just stand there. You need to come inside. _ Please. _

That was much better. There was a tinge of something like desperation in Beth's voice that made Rick feel both giddy and guilty

Nevertheless he followed her through the garage and into the house. 

“Jerry! Mom!” she called out. “Come downstairs quick!” 

Rick’s giddiness instantly evaporated when at the mention of Beth’s mother. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. He felt the sudden urge to run out of there, but it was too late. 

“Beth? What’s going on?” Diane’s voice rang from the second floor. “Is everything alright?”

"We have a visitor and you'll never guess who it is!" she called back, a youthful giddiness to her tone now that sent a warmth all throughout Rick. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

"Mama," Summer insisted, tugging on Beth's shirt. The woman looked down at her and the little girl pointed wordlessly at Rick.

"Oh. Sweetie, this is my daddy, making him your grandpa. Dad, this is Summer. My daughter."

"Hell!" the little girl chirped, waving at him. Rick waved back.

"Sweetie, it's pronounced 'hello'."

"No."

Rick chuckled; Summer seemed about as willful as Beth was at that age.

“Who is this mysterious visitor?” A man’s voice asked, the owner of the voice making his way downstairs. 

“Jerry, this is someone I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time,” Beth gushed once he reached the first floor. “This is my father, Rick Sanchez.” 

Rick said nothing, narrowing his eyes and sizing Jerry up. He was about as average-looking as one could get, and Rick could see he was of no threat to him. Jerry, however, eagerly reached out his hand. Rick did not take it immediately, but let it hang there for a moment before shaking it very briefly. 

“Rick Sanchez! It’s nice to  _ finally  _ meet you,” he said. 

Rick was ready to snap back, not appreciating the emphasis on the word “finally,” but before he could respond there was an audible gasp from the staircase. 

There stood Diane, one hand resting against the wall, the other clutching her chest. She said nothing, feet stopped mid-step and eyes as wide as dinner plates. 

“Uh, h-hey there, Diane,” Rick forced. “Long time, no see.” 

“Rick?” she asked incredulously, as if she was staring at a ghost. “Is that really you?”

Rick reached down to pick up Summer. He had a sudden rush of nostalgia, and felt like he was picking up a baby Beth again. As he held his granddaughter for the first time, it occurred to him how much time had passed, how much he had missed out on. The tears started falling before he even realized they had formed. 

Rick was suddenly crying, probably for the first time in a decade, in a room full of the last people he wanted to see him in such a vulnerable state. Summer stared at him quizzically, and he almost expected her to cry with him. Instead, she reached up and grabbed a lock of his hair, and tugged hard. 

“Summer, no—”

Rick waved Beth away as she reached to take the child away from her. He wiped his eyes.

“Dad, are you ok?” 

“I’m fine, just allergic to babies,” he obviously lied.

As Rick composed himself Beth led him to the couch. He sat down and readjusted Summer on his lap. The toddler made nonsensical yet pleased little sounds, and Rick kept his eyes trained on her, willing himself to calm the fuck down. 

“Jerry why don’t you get everyone drinks,” Beth suggested, and he disappeared into the other room. She turned back to rick. “Dad, you should stay for dinner.”

“Sure sweetie, I’d love to.”

At that moment Summer reached up and grabbed Rick’s nose. Her grip was super toddler tight. Chuckling, Rick tickled her sides until she released him, squirming around and laughing in his lap now. 

“Gwandpa!” she squealed.

Diane stared at the three silently, choosing to stand in the doorway rather than take a seat. Her face was unreadable, and her quiet gaze ate away at Rick. What the hell was she thinking? 

Beth was also unabashedly staring at Rick, though her expression was a lot more recognizable: pure happiness. She was grinning from ear to ear, brimming with excitement. She opened her mouth several times to speak, only to shut it each time as if unsure of what to say. 

Rick avoided both of their eyes, not ready for the bombardment of questions he was sure to come any moment now. Instead he focused on Summer, who was now trying her best to escape his lap. He couldn’t help the small grin, once again reminded of Beth at that age, always trying to explore. 

He set Summer on the ground, both elated and depressed to see she had already learned how to walk. Another thing he had missed. 

Jerry returned, arms laden with a tray of iced lemonade, whistling as he walked. With a small flourish of his free hand, he offered the tray to Rick. 

“Lemonade?” He asked with a nervous grin.

Rick did not respond, but took a glass nonetheless, slightly grateful for another distraction from Diane and Beth’s unrelenting stares.

“So,” Jerry said, stressing the word in a way that let Rick know he wouldn’t enjoy what came next, “What are you doing here?”

Yeah, Rick was not going to be friends with this guy. 

“Oh  _ Jesus Christ,  _ Jerry,” Beth snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What do you think he’s doing here? Do you think it could be that maybe he wanted to see his daughter?”

“I mean, it’s just been a long time is all. Why would he want to see you now?

There was fire in Beth’s eyes and she fixed Jerry with a look that could kill; he wisely shrunk back. “Are you saying that he  _ wouldn’t  _ want to see me again?”

“It was just an honest question,” Jerry protested. 

Beth threw her head back and downed the whole glass of lemonade like it was a tequila shot and she was a teenager on spring break. She held the now empty glass out towards Jerry and shook it. He took the hint, filling the glass back up. 

“I wish this was wine,” she sighed, more to herself. Then her face lit up. “Oh! Dad, you came at such an amazing time.”

“Wh-why’s that, sweetie?”

Her smile positively flowed as she announced, “I’m pregnant again!”

It was Rick’s turn to let his jaw drop, stunned. He looked back and forth between Beth and Jerry—glaring at the latter—wondering why this son of bitch didn’t know how to use a condom, or at least pull out. It took Rick a moment to gain his composure again, snapping his mouth shut and offering the best smile he could. 

“Congratulations,” was the only word he could force without sounding fake as hell. 

His and Diane’s eyes met for just a moment, and he knew she also wasn’t too thrilled at the situation. They were both thinking the same thing: 

_ How could their daughter fall for such an idiot. _

“I'm excited. Summer is such a handful, but in a good way, you know?" Beth put her hands on her barely protruding stomach, eyes twinkling. "We've already decided on names. Mortimer if it's a boy, Morticia if it's a girl.”

"Morticia is a nice name," Rick said. He hoped for the kid's sake they came out a girl. Morty was a pretty stupid name unless you were a middle aged man.

“More!" Summer giggled, reminding everyone she was still around. She repeated the word as she waddled up to Diane, little fists grabbing onto the woman's pant leg. Diane picked her up. "More me, more me!"

“I think she's trying to say 'Mortimer'," Jerry said, fatherly pride washing over his features. "You want a baby brother, don't you Summer?"

"No," Summer gurgled happily. 

"I'm sure once little Morty is born Summer and him will be inseparable," Jerry assured. 

"It's a little old fashioned for my tastes, but since I named Summer I let him choose this one," Beth explained to Rick, leaning closer to her father. "I came up with 'Morticia'."

Rick opened his mouth to speak, when Diane’s voice cut him off, cold and clear: 

“Rick, a word, please?” 

Rick swallowed hard, and nodded. Beth and Jerry watched them as they exited the room. He followed Diane through the hallway and back into the the garage. She closed the door behind them, before rounding on Rick. 

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing here?” She hissed, an angry fire in her eyes. 

“Just like Beth said, I wanted to see my daughter,” Rick answered, not lying entirely.

“You really expect me to buy that?” Diane rolled her eyes. 

“Well considering you kept me from my daughter most of her life, yeah, I do,” Rick shot back with a glare. 

Diane’s eyes widened for a moment, clearly shocked by Rick’s words. 

“You didn’t give me a choice, Rick,” she said, tone considerably softer.

“I’ll concede to that,” Rick said begrudgingly. He let out a deep sigh. “I missed her, Diane. And I know that’s mostly my fault—”

”Mostly?”

_ “Mostly.  _ I see age hasn’t lessened your personality.” Diane flipped him off and he snorted. A moment of silence passed, then Rick told her sincerely, “you look good.”

“Rick...” it was Diane’s turn to sigh. “As much as I hate to admit it, I did miss you. The good parts of you.”

Rick brightened. “Diane—“

“If you hurt our daughter or break her heart again I’ll make sure no one ever finds your body.”

“Fair enough.”

Just then there was a tentative knock on the garage door. 

“Mom? Dad? Is everything ok?” Beth’s voice rang out from the other side. 

Rick and Diane answered simultaneously: 

“Yes, sweetie.” 

“Of course, Beth.” 

Diane opened the door, leading Rick back into the hallway. 

“Rick just agreed to help Jerry cook dinner while you and I get Summer cleaned up,” Diane stated, throwing Rick a smirk over her shoulder.

“I never—” Rick began to protest before she elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Aw, dad, this will be a great chance for you two to get to know each other!” Beth beamed.

Jerry emerged from the living room, cradling Summer on his hip. 

“What’s that? My kitchen is finally getting a sous chef?” he joked, earning no laughs. 

“I-I guess so,” Rick said flatly as Jerry handed off Summer to Beth.

There was a twinkle of smugness on Diane’s face and goddamn it just made Diane more attractive. If the multiverse was a just place she wouldn’t still be so beautiful—and so vindictive.  

Rick squared up and accepted his Jerry filled fate. He actually let Jerry take the lead in the kitchen, mostly because Rick didn’t care very much. At first it wasn’t even so awful. They started dinner without any friendly talk minus Jerry’s incessant jokes that all fell flat. 

Of course that didn’t last long. As soon as they came to a stopping point, waiting for everything to cook, Jerry turned to him purposefully. 

“You know it is really great to finally meet you. Beth said you were an inventor?”

Rick didn’t answer, leveling Jerry with a hard stare as he rummaged around in his inner pocket. He withdrew his old, battered flask and took a deep draught, not breaking eye contact. The burn of alcohol against his throat was harsh and comforting. He kept the flask in case of emergencies, and dealing with his daughter’s annoying boyfriend definitely fit the bill. 

Jerry cleared his throat nervously, and Rick let the awkward silence hang heavy for a moment before answering: 

“Yeah. I’m an inventor.” 

Jerry gave a anxious laugh. 

“Wow, uh, what kinds of things have you invented? I have a couple of ideas I could bounce off you if you...uh.....”

Jerry’s words faltered as Rick fixed him with an icy glare.

"I-I-I invent what needs to be invented in any given moment. Go with the flow. Science is it's own art form, Jerry. Not some ball."

In an aggravating twist, Jerry seemed to consider his words instead of being discouraged. Rick nearly blanched when the other man told him, "Huh. That's actually really poetic, Rick. Inventors are artists. But you're not a Picasso type of artist, right? Like, you're not going to cut off your own ear one day and give it to Diane?"

“W-where dismembered body parts are concerned, I'm more of a Théodore Géricault. Get them from a morgue and pose them in a heap before painting them."

_ “Jesus.”  _

The look of horror on Jerry's face was rejuvenating. His nervous laugh before his eyes darted towards the food to see if it was ready yet was even better.

“Y-you just keep an eye on the food,  _ Jerry,”  _ Rick sneered, like the name itself was an insult. 

Rick stowed the flask back into his pocket as he sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving Jerry behind. Beth and Diane’s voices could be heard from the hallway, and Rick lingered out of view, listening intently. 

“...can’t wait to ask dad about all his adventures!” Beth gushed. 

“Now, Beth, I’m sure your father is very tired,” Diane responded quickly in a low voice. “Maybe it’s best to let him settle in first.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Beth, not sounding entirely convinced.

Diane's soft sigh barely reached Rick. It was enough to keep him from taking a step forward and revealing himself quite yet.

“You know, sweetheart, maybe it's best not to talk to him about it too much. Who knows what he...experienced."

“Don't worry, mom, I'll be respectful. If dad seems uncomfortable I'll shut up instantly. But come on, aren't you the least bit curious? He was gone for  _ so long.  _ I thought he was dead, honestly. But he's not! He's here, and he's staying, and he's got to have so many amazing space stories!"

Before Diane could respond Rick entered the room purposefully. 

“Dinner’s almost ready!” he announced. “Jerry will let us know when it’s time to eat. Wh-where’s that granddaughter of mine?”

Beth’s face cracked into an ecstatic grin. Summer was nestled on her mother’s lap, and she stared at Rick with wide eyes. He scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow at her, crossing his eyes. Summer let out of a scream of laughter. 

Rick noticed Diane from the corner of his eye, smiling softly. He threw her a sly grin. 

“She looks exactly like you, sweetie,” Rick commented. 

“Thank god,” Diane muttered. 

Rick couldn’t bite back is bark of laughter.

This only made Summer squeal in delight, chubby little arms flailing towards him. Rick swooped in and snatched her up, settling her in his lap as he took the open space on the couch next to his daughter. There was a fondness on Beth's face he really didn't know what to do with. He tried not to squirm, unlike the toddler he was holding.

“What are you doing, kiddo?

” Bounce!" she demanded, prodding at the leg she was on.

Rick readjusted her just a bit and started bouncing his leg. She giggled happily. Part of Rick couldn't help being amused by how adorably demanding she was. An awful trait in anyone older than five, but for now it was precious.

"So, what are you two up to in here?" he asked.

“Just working up an appetite gossiping about our sudden guest,” Diane replied coolly. 

Beth laughed a little too loudly, clasping her hands together. She looked very much like she had a million questions for Rick, and he wasn’t ready for that floodgate to be unleashed just yet. Before he could respond, Jerry’s voice rang out in a singsong tone: 

“Dinner’s ready!” 

Rick almost let out a sigh of relief. Saved by the bell. For now.

He was the first one off the couch, picking Summer back up in one swift movement that left the little girl confused. Thankfully she didn't fuss as he brought her to the dinner table and set her down in what obviously had to be her seat. Rick took his time getting her situated in the highchair, waiting to see where Diane and Beth sat before taking a seat himself.

Next to each other was the answer, Diane at one end with Beth on her right, across from the highchair. He caught her eye and Beth eagerly motioned for him to sit beside her. Rick readily strode past Jerry as he set the table and took the offered seat next to his daughter. Jerry frowned, more petulant than angry, but didn't say anything.

Rick watched as Jerry hurried to the kitchen; he returned with two large serving platters balanced precariously on each hand, throwing Rick a proud glance. He walked carefully, clearly trying to look like he wasn’t struggling.

“Jerry, do you need any help—” Beth began to offer. 

“No, I’m fine,” Jerry interrupted. “You just stay right there and I’ll take care of everything!” 

Rick rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Jerry’s display.

To his credit, while the plates wobbled dangerously and he kept having to compensate, Jerry managed to get the plates to the table without incident. As he went to set them down, however, he caught Summer's eye and the girl smiled. He tried to do a quick bow which turned into a pratfall worthy of The Three Stooges, but fell short of Marx Brothers territory. 

"Oh my god, Jerry! Are you all right?" Beth asked, getting to her feet.

Slowly Jerry gave them a thumbs up. Summer started cackling, hands clapping faster than a hummingbird's wings in flight. 

"I managed not to drop most of the meat," he told them with the voice of a man trying to salvage his pride from the failure of hubris, "and this one landed upright on my chest. Isn't that lucky?"

"Jesus, Jerry," Beth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before going to help him.

Diane put her head in her hands. Rick bit his lip and tried not to be obvious on how much he was enjoying this. Well, too obvious. Because that was absolutely  _ hilarious.  _ Pathetic, too.

“D-don’t worry about it, Jerry.” 

Standing from the table, Rick withdrew his portal gun; he entered in some coordinates, and shot it off towards the wall. Beth gasped as the portal tore open, and Rick threw a smirk at Jerry as he walked through it. 

After a moment Rick returned with a huge plate laden with barbecue, perfectly cooked and still steaming. The room instantly filled with the tantalizing aroma of the seared meat. He carefully placed the platter on the table, beaming. 

“Dig in,” Rick announced. 

“Wow, dad that was incredible!” Beth exclaimed as she served herself some food.

”Th-thanks sweetie.” 

Rick took his seat once again, not even trying to hide his glee anymore as Jerry dejectedly cleaned the food from the floor, before finally taking his seat at the table. 

It was a moment before anyone spoke, each too busy devouring the delicious barbecue. Jerry, however, was the first to break the silence: 

“Wow, Rick this is amazing! What, uh, planet is this from?”

Rick waited before answering, opting to strip the meat off of the rib he’d been working on.

“This food is from a strange dimension, where the native inhabitants have perfected barbecue to an art form. It’s called Texas.”

Diane snorted then quickly slapped a hand to her face. Beth outright laughed. 

Tossing them both an easy grin Rick promised, "I'll have to take you through a portal sometime, sweetie. Your mom loved it, her first time."

Beth's head swiveled from Rick to Diane in disbelief. "Wait, mom, you've gone through one of those things? What's it like?"

Diane focused on her plate, scowling as she admitted, "It was fantastical. Probably one of the most exciting things I've ever experienced."

Rick's grin got even wider, filling out with pride. Then Jerry had to open his mouth again.

"Uh, is that thing... _ safe?” _

Before he could snap back a retort Beth was jumping to his defense, much to Rick's surprise. 

"Oh, come on, Jerry. My father wouldn't make the offer if it wasn't safe. What do you think he is—some mad scientist with no regard for his own family?"

She didn't notice the look Diane threw his way, but Rick sure did. Could feel it pierce his chest. He did not meet her eyes.

“Of course it’s safe,  _ Jerry,”  _ Rick sneered, ignoring that piercing look. “You-you think I’d put my pregnant daughter in danger?” 

“No, I didn’t mean—I just—”

Beth threw Jerry a look that instantly shut up his stammering. 

“I would  _ love  _ to go through one of those portals, dad,” Beth affirmed excitedly, as she tore off a bite-sized piece of meat and offered it to Summer. 

“Anytime, sweetie. I’ll take you anywhere in the multiverse. But enough about me—” Rick let out a loud belch, and he saw Diane wrinkle her nose. He tossed her a quick wink. “—how have you two been? what–what did I miss?”

Beth seemed to consider, Rick assumed, the past couple of decades. He waited patiently while trying to bite into a rib nonchalantly. He was surprised at how genuinely curious he was.

“Well, obviously you missed Summer being born. That took us all by surprise." Diane gave a long suffering sigh. "It was a fiasco, but definitely better than it could have been. Honestly I was afraid I'd have to give up my dream of being a surgeon to be, I don't know, something like a horse doctor or something. Thankfully mom had money tucked away for emergencies so we weren't strapped or anything."

Rick thought of that duffel he'd forced her to take all those years ago and gave her a pointed look; Diane narrowed her eyes at him.

"Anyway, mom mostly took care of her while I was finishing high school, and now I'm working towards the degrees I need to be a surgeon."

"And when did you two—" Rick pointed between Beth and Jerry, "get married?"

They both laughed, looking at each other shyly. It made Rick sick, and he caught the flash of disgust on Diane's face, too. 

“Actually, we're not married," Jerry told him. "Yet."

“We've been waiting for the right time, and this is better than anything I was thinking of. Mom, dad. Jerry and I are engaged."

"I was thinking a summer wedding," Jerry piped up. "Get it? Because our daughter is named—"

"I'm sure they get it, Jerry."

Rick wished he could openly reach for his flask, but resisted the urge. Instead he congratulated his daughter with all the faux joy he could summon. It didn’t sound like a lot to his own ears, but Beth and Jerry were too busy looking at each other. Rick chanced a glance at Diane who looked less than thrilled.

Dinner was unremarkable after that, Jerry managing not to make any more of an ass of himself. Though Rick had barely known him for more than two hours he still felt like that was a miracle for the guy.

Afterwards they all sat in the family room together, Beth telling him about her life. When she told him about how she and Jerry had fallen in love it took all his willpower not to drink. What kept him from reaching for his flask was that  _ look  _ in his daughter's eyes. Fuck, not a look, a  _ twinkle.  _ He didn't want to take that away from her. 

Eventually Jerry left to go put Summer to bed. When they were gone Beth eagerly bounced closer to him on the couch—as much as a pregnant woman could—and begged him to tell her everything about space. More specifically, everything he'd been doing up there.

Though he had been expecting this turn in conversation, Rick balked. What was he supposed to do, tell his daughter that he was a wanted criminal on the run from the space feds? It didn’t help that Diane’s interest was suddenly piqued—her eyes had been glazed over the entire time Beth gushed about her life with Jerry. Rick put on his best smile. 

“Well, sweetie,” he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “so much happened while I was in space, I–I hardly know where to start. It’s probably not as interesting as you, uh, would think. Most–mostly business stuff. You–you know, inventing things, then selling them. Boring space stuff.” 

Rick forced what he hoped would be a nonchalant laugh, ignoring Diane’s narrowing eyes

"Aw, come on, dad, don't sell yourself short." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "What kind of things did you invent? I can't imagine something more amazing than a portal gun, but I doubt you'd just let anyone get their hands on that."

Oh, but there were plenty of people who wanted it. Rick tried not to wince at the thought of the Galactic Federation. He never wanted to deal with those bastards again for as long as he lived.

Putting on a smile he told her, "I've made so many random things just to see if I could. That's a big part of science, sweetie—just fucking around."

Before Beth had a chance to respond, Diane cut in with a firm voice: 

“Beth, honey, don’t badger your father. It’s getting late and I’m sure he’s tired from his travels. There will be time to talk later.” 

Rick almost sighed from relief, but managed to hold it back. Beth, however, was not able to hide her disappointment. 

“But I have so many questions!” she protested, throwing Rick a glance that was clearly asking for backup. 

“Your mom is right, sweetie, it is getting pretty late.” Rick faked a huge yawn. “We–we can talk tomorrow. Promise.”

She pouted, and suddenly Rick was seeing the toddler she had been last time he was in her life. His heart broke as she stood up, saying, "Right, you should get some rest."

Unable to leave her with nothing Rick said, "Remind me to tell you about my best friend, Bird Person."

"Is that his name, or what he is?"

"Yes."

This seemed to placate her, and Rick could tell she was mulling this little morsel over. He couldn't help grinning to himself; he'd have to figure out some of his safer stories to tell her.

"Beth, dear, you rest," Diane said suddenly, standing up as well.

Looking very much like she wanted to protest, Beth turned to Rick and opened her arms for a hug. He returned the gesture, drawing her in and holding her tightly for a moment. After a beat he withdrew, blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes.

“Goodnight sweetie, sleep tight.”

“Goodnight dad. It’s so good to have you back.”

And with that, Beth made her way to her room.

"Here, Rick,” Diane offered. “I'll show you to the guest room."

He nodded, following Diane as she quietly led him upstairs and into a small bedroom. 

“You can sleep here,” she said. “It’s not much, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Rick cut in. “I appreciate it. Thanks for bailing me out back there, by the way.” 

A sly smile crept across Diane’s face. 

“Did you really think you’d get off that easy?” 

She sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to her.

”Take a seat.” It was more of a demand than an offer. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Rick already missed the endless vacuum of space. 

"I'm not getting out of this, huh?"

“What do you think, Rick?"

"I think I need a drink."

He made good on that, this time not resisting the urge. He didn't miss the look on Diane's face when he brought out the flask. 

"D-don't worry, I've cut way back. I'm not, I'm not like how I used to be.

”What business is that of mine?" Diane replied flippantly. Then, softer, she admitted, "I am glad to hear that. I never stopped worrying about you, Rick."

Rick really didn't know how to respond to that. So instead of acknowledging her he plopped down on the bed, jostling Diane a little. She rolled her eyes.

“So. What  _ did  _ you get yourself into during all these years?” she pressed curiously. 

“What  _ didn’t  _ I get myself into,” Rick muttered, shaking his head. He paused for a moment, before admitting, “Nothing too good, that’s for sure. I was better off dealing drugs.” 

Rick gave a dry laugh, before noticing the look on Diane’s face. 

“Kidding. Are you sure you wanna know?” 

She nodded quickly. 

“Don’t you think I deserve to know after everything you put me through?” 

“Ouch. I–I guess you’re right.”

Diane hummed in agreement. Rick took a deep breath and just jumped right in. It was probably like a bandage—ripping it off quick was the best solution.

"Space is big," he started, and she nodded. "It's big and it's the fucking worst. Not space itself, but the assholes inhabiting it. There are millions,  _ millions  _ of planets, Diane, and each one that has sentient life should just be destroyed. W-wipe, wipe existence clean off."

“Jesus, Rick."

"No, hear me out. Because space is vast and it's beautiful. There are amazing things out there, Diane. It, it's all this hodge podge of beauty and bullshit. And no matter where you go, no matter how varied one culture is from another, there's this one constant." Rick leaned forward, preparing to really rip that bandage off; Diane leaned forward, enraptured. "Cops are assholes."

“Oh my god, Rick." She laughed, sitting up. "I'll assume you really didn't stay on the straight and narrow path, then. Not that I ever expected you to."

“Diane, there–there’s nothing straight about me.” 

The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d said them. 

Diane’s eyes widened for a moment, before she burst out laughing. Rick couldn’t help but smile. At least  _ that  _ cat was out of the bag.

“Yeah, no shit,” she snorted. She grabbed the flask from his hand and took a deep gulp without even a shudder. 

Rick raised his eyebrow, visibly impressed.

“You’re not the only one who’s allowed to drink, ya know.” Diane took a breath. “It takes a lot of patience to deal with that child.”

“Summer? She didn’t seem too bad.” 

“No, I meant Jerry.”

It was Rick’s turn to laugh, hard. 

“Our daughter sure knows h-how to pick them.” 

“Yeah, but enough about him—tell me more about space,” Diane pressed excitedly. 

“Like–Like I told Beth, I invented some stuff, sold it, rinse and repeat. I had a certain, uh,  _ niche  _ market.”

"I can imagine. But that can't be all. It's been years, Rick. Don't tell me that's all you've been doing."

“Well, I did enough to piss off some important people." Diane didn't look surprised. "Really, uh,  _ really  _ important. Galactic Federation important."

"That doesn't sound good."

Rick burped and agreed, "Nope."

Diane waited patiently for him to continue as Rick took another sip from his flask. He passed it to her. After she took her own drink she kept it and he didn't try to take it back. With a deep breath he explained more.

“The Galactic Federation, it–it's basically what it sounds like. Full of powerful assholes who just want more power so they can make the whole universe in their image or whatever. If they got their hands on my portal gun they'd make every dimension bow to them like a medieval king who eats turkey legs all day and laughs at peasants who don't have the education or weapons to rise up and beat their ass."

"And they know about your portal gun?"

"Yee-up. They want it, and they've tried to get it. But like, like hell I'll ever give it to them."

Diane fell silent, taking another long drink from Rick’s flask. 

“So that’s why you came here, to hide from the space cops?” she finally said. If she was angry, Rick thought she was great at hiding it.

“Pfft, those–those guys couldn’t find me if I was dancing naked in front of them.” Diane rolled her eyes again, and Rick conceded. “And it doesn’t hurt that Earth isn’t part of the federation. Not advanced enough.” 

“Well at least you’re being honest,” Diane sighed, before letting out a burp of her own.

She handed the flask back to Rick. 

“Those space cops got any way of tracking you?” 

Rick took a drink. 

“I wouldn’t be here if they did.” 

“Oh, thank god.” Diane breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing. 

She slumped against Rick’s side. He almost jerked away, not expecting the sudden contact. She was warm against him. 

“You really are something else, Rick.” 

“I–I’ll take that ask a compliment. So, is th-this interrogation over?”

She mulled it over for a second before telling him, "I just have one last question."

"Sure, anything."

"Did you ever find someone else? To fall in love with, I mean. I always hoped that maybe you would. Someone who'd be able to give you what you needed."

Rick looked away. Out of everything she could have asked, he would have never expected something like that.

"Ha, like th-there's anyone in the multiverse who could handle all this. Why let someone try and tie me down? I've proven ten times over how well that works."

"I know you, Rick. You like your fun, you  _ love  _ it, but you crave a deeper connection that you'll do anything to get. Of course, even then you'll do everything to push the other person away, because as much as you've changed I bet that hasn't. In fact, just you being here is proof."

Once again, Diane had left Rick speechless. She was so good at reading him. He had forgotten that she could see straight through him. 

It was a long moment before he answered.

“To answer your question: no, I never found anyone else. Fucked around  _ a lot.  _ I definitely had my share of fun. There–there was never anyone who could keep up.” 

“Maybe you just needed to slow down a little,” Diane offered softly. “Either way, I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds lonely.”

Rick didn’t respond. Diane waited a beat, then shifted her weight away from him, leaning against the headboard instead. 

“Ok, I lied earlier. I have one more question.”

Rick gave a heavy, dramatic sigh. 

“Go on,” he groaned playfully. 

“Who is Stan?”

“You know, I've got to learn to stop letting you ask things.” 

“You'll catch on eventually. Now, who is he?"

“He's a guy I used to know way back.”

A beat. When he offered nothing else Diane softly kicked him. "Don't leave me in suspense."

"Alright,  _ fine.  _ He's a guy I used to date. Happy?"

“Getting there. Keep going."

This woman was going to be the death of him. Still, Rick threw his hands up in the air and accepted his fate. He told her how he'd loved Lee, but loved the drugs too. They were easier to love, no messy feelings with ecstasy or coke or whatever smorgasbord he'd pump into his system. Drugs wouldn't cook a sweet dinner for him that he'd never show up to. 

He admitted on how he'd fucked Stan over.  _ Repeatedly.  _ Pushed him away just like she said he did, leaving Rick with that stupid lava lamp he still couldn't fix.

”Lava lamp?"

“Yeah, got it from a guy named Harvey in some pocket dimension antique store. Bastard said it was fueled by love, and Lee that fucking sap believed him."

“Wait, when did it stop working?"

“I don't know. Sometime during the end, I guess, when everything was going to shit."

"Oh my god."

“What?"

_ “Rick.”  _

_ “What?”  _

“Have you been trying to get this lamp to light up again all these years?"

Heat spread across his face. Nonchalantly he replied, "Ju-just in my spare time. Like, I don't know, a hobby. I created a goddamn portal gun—I should be able to get a stupid fucking lava lamp to work."

“Oh, Rick." Diane gave him such a pitying look that Rick narrowed his eyes. "You still love him, don't you? All these years and you've been trying to get your love for him to light your lamp."

“ Love is not an energy source, Diane. I've been using science."

"On a magic lamp."

Fuck, it was just like talking to Stan.

”Who–who said anything about magic?” Rick shot back heatedly. 

Diane rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, come on Rick. You’re not stupid. Just stubborn.  If you of all people couldn’t fix that lamp, it has to be magic.”

Rick grumbled something about bullshit under his breath. 

“Do you still have the lamp?” 

“Of course I do. What–what was I gonna do, throw it away?” 

Tears stung his eyes and Rick looked away. He wasn’t going to start crying again if he could help it. Diane placed her hand on top of his.

“Rick, why didn’t you ever tell me?” Diane asked softly. 

“You–you said only one more question.”

_ “Rick.”  _

“Why do you think I never told you? I-I didn’t need you judging me for being queer after all the other shit I put you through.”

Diane sighed, squeezing his hand. "I suppose I can understand that. My possible reaction was a risk that you couldn't take. But I'm here for you now, you know. I want us to be friends."

"Th-that's not, the worst thing anyone's ever said to me."

"And you know what friends help friends do?"

"What?"

"Get back together with an old flame."

Diane was  _ definitely  _ going to be the death of him.

Rick shook his head. 

“I-I don’t think that’s such a good idea. The last time I saw him he made it pretty clear that he wanted me out of his life.” 

“Aw, Rick, what’s the worst that could—”

She fell silent when Rick’s eyes met her own.

“Please, Diane,” his voice cracked. “Drop it.”

Her face fell. Her eyes bore deep into his, filled with pity. Rick hated it. 

“You rest up, Rick,” Diane said as she rose from the bed. “It was good to catch up. I’ll see you in the morning?” 

It was a question. Rick knew she expected him to leave again, like he always did. He swallowed hard before nodding. 

“Good, you can help me make breakfast. Goodnight, Rick.” 

“Goodnight, Diane.” 

She stopped before closing the door to add, “You know I’m always here if you need to talk.” 

Rick nodded again, before she shut the door. And just like that, he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a pride month present, something something joke about fairy godmothers. –Fox
> 
> We’re finally gonna hit some happy times here soon. Stay tuned! ;) Also Rick finally came out to Diane (on accident) just in time for Pride month! –Lynds

**Author's Note:**

> Fox: I would personally love to stumble on Harvey in real life and get some weird magic shit.
> 
> Lynz: Here is a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12128145200/playlist/1eUYbspvLgPyURMo5U89LA) I've compiled of inspo songs for this fic. When listened to in order it follows the general vibe of the storyline :)  
> 


End file.
